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But clearly what Avery expects and wants is dancing, and they display none of the self-consciousness cementing my feet to the floor. They release my hand and immediately fall into the beat, raising their arms over their head, closing their eyes, swaying to the throbbing rhythm of the music. They’re like a leaf caught in a breeze, dancing whichever way the wind pushes them, graceful and free and unburdened by any shame whatsoever.
All I can do is stand there and watch.
It feels strange, almost voyeuristic, but I also can’t stop myself. There’s an effortlessness to Avery’s every movement, like they’re always meant to be in motion. If Ifound them attractive before, I’m devastated now, hopelessly enthralled by the sway of their hips, the grace of their limbs, the bliss on their face. Their raised arms pull up their light, baggy sweater, exposing their narrow waist. My eyes dart down to a patch of pale skin, and my throat instantly clogs. I want to run away to the bar and beg for water, but I know it won’t actually help. What’s lodged in my throat can’t be cleared away that easily.
They open their eyes and catch me watching. Instead of being horrified, they laugh. I can see it but not hear it, but I already know the shape of their laughter when it eases all the stress in their face.
We can’t talk anymore. The music is too loud. So instead of asking, they take my hands and simply start moving me. It feels awkward, almost childish. But when Avery laces their fingers between mine, I forget all about that.
That point of connection ignites something inside me. They’re pulling me along with them, dragging me into the music whether I’m ready to go or not. I move with them, feeling the motion of their body and going along with it as best I can. Before I know it, I’m mirroring the sway of their hips, and they’re grinning at me like they’ve won some major victory.
Before I can feel self-conscious, they let go, but I don’t stop moving. It’s like I’m a metronome they set in motion. I can keep going under my own momentum for now, but I know I’ll lose my nerve eventually.
Avery doesn’t let me, of course. They turn around, and for a panicked instant I think they’re going to leave mehere, lost amid a sea of bodies on this dark dance floor. Then somehow they’re closer, much closer, so close I instinctively reach out to brace my hands on their hips.
They roll into the touch. I can feel the music through their body, like every pulsing beat is coming up through the floor and traveling through their slim hips before it reaches my hands.
I move with renewed vigor, following them. It feels like holding onto the edge of a cliff or riding a mechanical bull. All I can do is cling tightly until I inevitably fall off.
And when the fall comes, will it be Avery I land on?
It should be terrifying, but this weird, noisy, dark corner of the universe separates me from the real world and all the things I should be concerned about. When the beat shifts, so do Avery’s hips, and there’s nothing in my mind except following along, moving with them, riding every note of the club music as Avery’s body transforms it into something beautiful.
They push even farther back against me. My hands slip minutely around them, just slightly forward on their hips, but it feels like holding them. Their dark ponytail is in my face. They flip it over their shoulder, and then their neck is right there, inches from my lips, exposed and vulnerable. My lips ache to taste them, to press against warm skin. Every breath brings me the scent of whatever they wash their hair with, something light and floral but not overpowering. It also brings me the scent of them,their sweat from the dancing, their body so perilously close to mine.
Weak and helpless, I lean down. I close my eyes as I rest my head against Avery’s shoulder. I can feel their reaction, some little noise that vibrates in their throat. I feel like all I’m doing is swaying back and forth, but they don’t seem to mind. They let me hide my face against them, on the bare skin exposed by their slinky sweater. My lips brush their skin almost accidentally, and it’s just as sweet as I imagined, flushed with warmth, salty with sweat, so smooth and soft when I dare to kiss their shoulder a second time and a third.
“Diego,” they say.
I’m close enough to hear them, to feel my name as it takes shape in their throat, and that leaves me gasping for breath. A breath that tastes all of them, of the heat rising off their body from dancing, of the desire held at bay inside them.
They turn in my arms, smoothly draping their arms over my shoulders as they do. Thanks to how my head rested, I’m leaning forward, placing me almost nose-to-nose with Avery. Their eyes are so unbearably blue from this distance. My hands linger on their hips, and I tremble at the thought of tilting forward to press even more of our bodies against each other.
“I like when you touch me,” they say.
I can barely breathe. Every inhale is too warm. Mylungs never seem to get all the air they need. I don’t even know if we’re dancing anymore or simply standing here holding each other. Holding each other. I’m holding them, clinging to them, my hands on their body, my face an inch from theirs.
And I’m not pulling away.
From this distance, the pull is undeniable. Now that I’ve touched them, tasted them, felt them, I can’t seem to get enough. Reason wages a hopeless battle against raw desire, against the magnetic pull of this person who isn’t simply beautiful in body, but also in mind. I want to drag them off this dance floor and touch them, yes, but my fantasies leap almost immediately from that to lying in bed just talking to them, picking their brain in the dark, listening to every thought they’re willing to share.
“Kiss me,” Avery says.
“I can’t do that.” Whatever part of me is still functioning forces the words out.
“You’re already touching me.”
“I know.”
“Then why not kiss me?” Avery says. “Just like you kissed my shoulder.”
Their shoulder. Oh, what a fool I was to allow myself even that. Because now that I’ve had a sip, I want more so badly that my whole body seems to clench around the need.
“Please, Avery,” I say. “I can’t do this.”
They move their hands so they’re cupping my face, thumbs stroking. “Nothing bad is going to happen. We’re both students, you know.”
“I’m more than just a student.”
