May I Challenge You To This Dance? PV Slava Reopened

All speech is assumed to be in Russian unless otherwise stated.

Despite being dimly aware that Hogwarts balls rarely went as planned, Slava was here for another one. He loved excitement and meeting lots of new people or hanging out with his friends, and there were generally cool decorations and food at these sorts of things. Furthermore, he had got a new dress recently and figured this would be a good opportunity to properly try it out. This was the first time he was wearing a dress publicly, however, and he was a little bit nervous despite knowing that most people were generally pretty tolerant and he could handle the ones that weren’t. He didn’t need to push himself too far too fast, though, and ended up largely covering the dress up with dress robes that were equally as exciting to him. They were mostly red and yellow in colour, and they wreathed him in harmless flames, which he thought was so cool. The look was completed with bright, glittery makeup reminiscent of sunshine with yellows and oranges for the eyeliner and eyeshadow.

——Time skip——

Time passed and Slava was about ready to leave. He grabbed a brownie on his way out, munching on it contentedly as he walked away. He was looking down at the ground, being careful not to trip on anything lying around, and didn’t look up fully until he had finished the brownie, brushing his hands together to get rid of the crumbs. It was then that his gaze fell on him. Inexplicably, without realising it, Slava’s path changed and he started moving towards Nichlas, almost as if being pulled in by some form of gravity. His eyes lingered on the other boy for slightly too long, captivated by his overall look.

The moonlight caught on the glitter of Nichlas’s makeup and between that and his outfit, he almost seemed to glow. It was as if the very stars above them had come down just to settle around this boy for a moment. He looked ethereal, and Slava couldn’t take his eyes off him. The Swede was leaning against a tree, gloved hands occasionally turning the pages of a book. He hadn’t seemed to notice Slava yet; he looked so serene that Slava almost didn’t want to disturb him. And he was pretty—really, really pretty. What? No, what was Slava thinking? This was Nichlas—the same Nichlas that he had been kind of fighting with for the past few months or so. And yet here Slava was…

His thoughts were just… artistic appreciation at most, though. Yeah, that sounded better… Suddenly aware that he was now properly approaching Nichlas, Slava found himself scrambling for words. He had had something he was going to say, surely. He stared at Nichlas’s makeup—it was good makeup—and then smirked. “You do like glitter! I knew it,” he exclaimed playfully, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He glanced around. “So… do you dance? Or do you just… lurk and read books in fancy outfits?” There may or may not have been an invitation buried somewhere in there. They weren’t exactly at the ball anymore, but the music from it could still be heard from out here. Maybe the pair’s “dance” that had been ongoing could take a new form…

Reducio

Slava is wearing the site item Dress Robes of Flames.




Minor godmodding permission was granted by Nichlas’s writer.

Nichlas had long since gotten tired of the noise and people that had gathered for the event and found himself a more secluded spot, away from the main event. He found himself near the Lake, of which he had read it surrounded the entire castle and harbored various creatures and useful plants. Regardless of that, Nichlas had found himself a tree to lean against, as the Lake provided no actual benches and sitting on a mossy tree stump with the extravagant outfit he was wearing felt beneath him and would just ruin the cloth. The safer alternative and equally comfortable, would be to simply lean against one of the trees after ensuring there was no rough bark or sharp edges that might cut into his cloak or cause any loose threads that would then tangle themselves into the wood.

His thinly gloved hands reached for a pocket book he had taken with him to the ball, knowing the the activities would eventually grow weary and boring. It was a book he had checked out of the school's library and felt handy enough to carry around the Grounds. It felt worn and well-read in his hand which excused taking it out to a place where it might get a spill as it shared countless dog-ears and the tell-tale sign of an aging book with some mild discoloration where it had been exposed to the elements. Regardless he figured reading about the History of the place he was now staying at for the duration of this ball, seemed a fair enough use of his time, especially since he was not feeling very social regardless of the meticulous care that had gone into perfecting his appearance.

When he had first started reading, his mind had still been focused on his surroundings as well as the written pages, but as time went on and seldom a soul walked back to the castle, most still occupied with the event itself and enjoying their time at the Blossom Ball, Nichlas's mind began to focus a little more on his lecture. Of course there was still some alertness left to him but he was not actively watching or listening for any approaching people. The noise of music, song and laughter disappearing and blending into the background as the water of the lake soothingly crashed against the rocks of the shore and the rustling of leaves of the treetop above him became the music, accompanying his reading.

So it took him a moment to raise his gaze when encountered with a familiar voice, as they were both bathed in the gentle moon light. “You do like glitter! I knew it,” was the to be expected exclamation upon being greeted with the sight of a familiar imp. The golden light cast by the cloak the other was wearing, illuminated his face quite nicely; an objective statement as the Swede took in the other's appearance, before pushing himself off the trunk of the tree and closing the book in his hands with a quiet snap, smoothly, after glancing down at the page momentarily to memorize the page he had come to a stop at.

"When I apply it. Yes." He said slowly, his voice oddly calm for this moment. After all he had been sort of relaxing, as much as he would in a strange place such as this at least. He stepped closer to the other boy, clearly having been invited to hold a conversation. As he stepped away from the tree, the moonlight caught him even better, reflecting of the pale blue and silvery glitter that dusted his face. His cloak, almost the mirror piece to Slava's outfit, being caught by the moon's light equally nicely.

“So… do you dance? Or do you just… lurk and read books in fancy outfits?” The Russian asked, the small breaks between the words hinting at some hesitance, causing the Swede to raise his eyebrow, an almost playful - well as far as Nichlas would be playful at the very least - smile, tugging at one corner of his lip. "Why? Would you be asking me for one, if I did?" he asked, there was of course a little bit of smugness underlying in his tone as he regarded the other.

Of course Nichlas could dance, quite well so even. He had learned dancing as a kid, his parents had taught him and he had been to different events before where dancing had been an expectation. "Do you?" he asked back, as he extended his hand, palm side up, a clear invite. Though there was also something typically him about this invite, it was earnest and yet, as it was directly directed at Slava, there was also a slight dare. After all the other seemed to be thinking of a dance and yet had not spoken what would have lead up normally to be an invitation. So perhaps it was that time between them again when push came to shove, but for once their dance would not be an abstract web of arguments and tests of the other, but an actual dance. That was, if Slava dared, and actually took the hand that was offered to him.

Dancing was something quite casual to him, or always had been. He had been to many events and danced with countless people, which made him quite sure and confident in his steps. When he danced it was something easy to predict, after all it was him who would lead the steps. It was calming, almost soothing, the music of the ball could be heard even from the distance as a song came to a stop and another would be starting in its place soon.

All speech is assumed to be in Russian unless otherwise stated.

It seemed almost a shame to interrupt Nichlas’s reading when he looked that peaceful, but at least the other boy didn’t look annoyed by it. For once, Slava’s goal wasn’t actually to bother Nichlas in any way, but rather just to… what? Keep him company, stop him for a little chat? It sounded weirder the more he thought about it. He hadn’t been thinking when he approached Nichlas, much like he rarely thought before initiating any of their other interactions. But this one was different. There was no “tutoring”, no apparent challenge, just… them, out here near the festivities of the ball.

Nichlas confirmed that he did actually like glitter, at least in some circumstances. Slava wouldn’t have really expected that—the Swede had seemed to treat it like it was the worst thing ever, insisting that it be kept far away from him. Admittedly, a little bit of glittery makeup wasn’t exactly the same as being largely coated in glitter against one’s will, but he was still surprised that Nichlas even liked any amount of it at all. Perhaps Nichlas’s life wasn’t as devoid of colour and sparkle as Slava had originally thought. “It looks good,” he said softly, genuinely, peering up at the other boy. He quickly averted his gaze, looking instead at the dazzling cloak that was caught in the light as Nichlas stepped away from the tree.

Slava asked vaguely about dancing and was met with a slight smile. "Why? Would you be asking me for one, if I did?" The Russian’s first instinct was to backpedal, stumbling over words in a scramble to deny such a thing, but then he realised that Nichlas hadn’t actually seemed opposed to the idea. So Slava shrugged—the gesture a lot more casual than he really felt. “Maybe. Might as well, right? We’re here, are we not?” Nichlas asked if Slava danced, too. “Yeah. Sometimes.” The corner of his lips lifted in a small smile.

Nichlas held out his hand—a decisive invitation that had come significantly faster and more easily than Slava had expected. The Russian hadn’t been sure if Nichlas would’ve even been remotely interested in potentially dancing at all, but he supposed this answered that. Gently, Slava placed his hand in the other’s, pale skin contrasting with the dark glove. He felt his heartbeat quicken as he did so, and hoped that the light level outside was low enough to hide the slight blush that warmed his cheeks.

Reducio

Slava is wearing the site item Dress Robes of Flames.

Nichlas was not one who needed any form of validation to be happy. He was quite confident in his capabilities and was well aware of his impressive skill set and handsome appearance. Shallow compliments, which throughout his life he had received many of, were not uncommon but made little difference to the Swede who expected little less than to be perceived as handsome in appearance or terrifying in combat. These adjectives just felt like natural additions to his being and he would not think twice about them, regardless of how other people perceived him or whether they perceived him at all, which usually it seemed impossible for people not to. Something about his demeanor feeling downright suffocating for the faint-hearted people amongst human kind.

“It looks good,” the voice was soft, barely a whisper and the authenticity within them made him pause, momentarily, as his hazel gaze bore down into the brown depths of the other's eyes. It was only a small moment, as the other was very quick to avert his gaze, causing an involuntary smirk to befall the shark's face; though it missed it's usual bite. Of course there was still a sense of coldness that drifted across the Swede's features, but something about the current situations had his being seem more approachable, even if said accessibility was only granted the person standing in front of him. This interaction between them, so unlike any of their previous exchanges, had an ounce more lightness to it, almost as if the shimmering moonlight had lifted some of their usual seriousness. Or perhaps it was the ball that had put them in a more casual mood. Regardless of the cause, for now it would be a well accepted substitute for their usual banter.

He read into the expressions the other gifted him with, in response to his words but also his actions. It was something the Swede was used to doing, getting a read on people and over time he had gotten quite adept at predicting other people in their reactions and intentions. However Slava's reactions had always struck him as odd, despite his acclaimed transparency there was a highly unpredictable nature that he harbored, one that was met with felt intrigue and expressed snark from the Swede, who was usually so good at keeping a cool head. At knowing what to expect, but there was something about the Russian male in front of him that refused to be categorized by expectations. But in this moment, as the emotions and hesitation on the Russian's face were clear as day, he felt a light sense of genuine amusement show within him. And he waited to see the reaction the other would come up with, because there was no better guess, no prediction within the Swede on whether the other would step forward and accept this encounter or back out again, continuing their usual back and forth. Though the mood had shifted to one that was much more subtle and fragile and somewhat pleasant. However the Swede was almost sure that whatever lightheartedness was attached to their interaction of this evening, it would not last, at least not to this extent. Their banter would continue and the pace of their dance would pick up once more, as was the nature of things. But why not allow for this one day to be danced to a different melody?

And appeared that Slava thought similarly as he did not back out, despite for a moment really appearing like he would. Then again the boy was hardly someone known for backing out of a situation. But perhaps this moment of peace between the two of them was not missed by the other either.

“Maybe. Might as well, right? We’re here, are we not?” Nichlas smiled, an almost practiced smile, one he had grown used to and yet there was an unfamiliar warmth that almost made the smile feel genuine despite its practiced nature. Perhaps it was, but he would not spare a thought to that int his moment. "Then let us dance," he agreed, as the other took his hand. He found some reassurance in the fact that the other knew how to dance. However he was not sure if he had equal experience in being lead during a dance, but trusted it would go smoothly as long as the other was able to relax at least a little bit and trust that Nichlas knew what he was doing.

The Swede began listening to the music that played in the distance, recognizing a song that would make for a good, classic Foxtrott and began to lead them into the dance as he felt the tact give him a smooth transition into the first dance steps. There was some professionalism about the whole procedure that affected the Swede, as he began his dance steps with perfect confidence and self assurance. Slava's hand felt small in his, as he towered over the other and lead him carefully as they were bathed in the shimmer of the moon light, that glistened across the Lake as the music directed them. His other hand was at Slava's hip and he kept up with the basic steps of the dance, until he was sure that Slava was comfortable in what he assumed to be a less familiar role for the Russian, before leading him into a promenade with an underarm turn.

All speech is assumed to be in Russian unless otherwise stated.

Nichlas stared back at Slava as he complimented the makeup, although Slava wasn’t able to maintain eye contact for long, suddenly shy when he realised what he had said and how he had said it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Nichlas’s smirk and wondered whether he would soon regret saying such a thing, but no further comment came. He didn’t know how exactly Nichlas had received the compliment, but it seemed he would never know, as they moved on.

For a moment, there was a very small flicker of doubt and Slava wondered whether he might have made a mistake by planting the idea of a dance. What if Nichlas laughed at him or made fun of him for even considering asking him to dance? “Dance partners” certainly wasn’t the first thing that came to mind as a possible label for the mess that was their current relationship. But Nichlas didn’t laugh. Instead, he made the first physical move, extending his hand to Slava.

After Slava spoke, suggesting that they use the opportunity to dance, Nichlas smiled. It felt weird to see the other boy smiling at him this way. Until now, with maybe one or two exceptions (if that), Nichlas’s “smiles” that were directed at Slava had been smug, unpleasant, scary. But this one… wasn’t. It seemed remarkably normal, almost… friendly. Well, maybe not friendly, exactly, but close enough—closer than it had ever been prior to this. "Then let us dance." Slava felt a smile spreading across his own face too, one that formed almost instinctively in response to Nichlas’s.

Hands now clasped together, Slava watched the way Nichlas paused briefly to get a sense for the music before he began leading them in a foxtrot. Slava mirrored him relatively smoothly, having at least some basic familiarity with the style of dance. Nichlas’s dancing was as many things were when it came to him—precise, practised, graceful, and seemingly effortless. Slava let himself relax slightly into the flow of the dance, guided by the music and by Nichlas’s steady movements.

It was interesting to see another side of Nichlas—this gentle dancer—and, for a moment, Slava wondered what it would be like if they had had a different history together—one where they hadn’t fought, seemingly diametrically opposed from the start. The more he saw of Nichlas and his behaviour, the more Slava doubted the things he had originally thought of him. They had both continually surprised one another, and, really, what could have been more surprising than this?

It was extremely hard to believe that any of it was truly happening. Had someone told Slava a month ago—perhaps even more recently, too—that this was the position the pair would be in now, he probably would’ve laughed in their face. But while this definitely wasn’t normal for the two of them, it didn’t feel unnatural, at least for Slava. In a weird way, it actually felt kind of… right. In fact, it did seem strangely natural. Wasn’t it odd that even their outfits complemented each other perfectly? The sun and the moon, day and night… was that what they were? Such opposites and yet things that were so firmly tied together as a pair.

Could something change between them now? If they were able to put aside their disagreements and differences in order to dance in close proximity, without fighting at all, for a short while, surely they could try to do it for longer, too? Slava doubted that any change would be immediate, if it happened at all, though. Their little rivalry, or whatever it was, was unlikely to die that easily. Constantly pushing and challenging one another had become a habit he feared would be hard to break. But maybe, just maybe, it was possible. After all, things between them were a lot less heated nowadays than they had used to be.

For now, there was just this quiet, precious moment of intimacy. Distant music mixed with the lapping at the shores of the lake, moonlight illuminating the pair just enough to keep their glitter sparkling and allow them to see. It was calm—much, much calmer than their interactions normally were. And yet Slava’s heartbeat still felt way, way too fast. Had he always felt like this when he danced with someone…? He thought of dancing with any of his friends—something he had enjoyed, but also something that was far more casual. It had to just be that Slava was still somewhat scared of Nichlas… but he didn’t feel scared of him right now—not when he looked so beautiful and was being so gentle. So what was it that he felt…?

Reducio

Slava is wearing the site item Dress Robes of Flames.

Hex: #465c67 | English | Russian | Swedish

Nichlas gaze was set on the smaller male before him, a bit taken aback but absolutely welcoming the silence between them. It felt fragile, yet it was quite comfortable in nature. It surprised him though, this silence, as he had not quite expected Slava to be one who could find comfort in such things or be quiet as he was being for a prolonged period of time. It was just another detail the Swede would learn of this transparent enigma. This sunshine with a punch and boldness, who now seemed almost shy. How odd. Yet Nichlas found himself not minding at all, as they would be enjoying this moment via dance it seemed.

So he would guide them, as they danced. Through different steps as his hand rested on Slava's upper back just beneath his shoulder blade, while the other gently clasped the Russian's hand in his own. As they danced, the wind carried over the sound of the song being played in the distance and in their own silence the music being played was decently audible. The Swede too, remained silent, not wanting to be the one to disrupt this newfound peace between the both of them.

With his gloved hands he would give the other cues, such as switching up the way their hands touched, so that he could lead him into another movement with an air of subtlety and a more gentle form of control over the situation than he usually displayed; for once there was no sharkiness though his confidence never wavered as he lead Slava around in a circle, making him spin a few times as the music picked up in intensity with a few well-placed underhand turns.

Their last few steps of this dance would be spent in a promenade, before he gently led them back into the basic step. With the last note, he brought some distance between them, as he bent down into a polite bow, offering the other's hand back with the same motion he had used to first ask for the other's hand in this dance. Open, upward facing palm where Slava's hand had rested throughout most of the duration of this dance. Nichlas looked graceful, illuminated by the silver reflections of the moon. Once the Russian would withdraw his hand, the Swede would straighten his back again, once more towering over the other in a stance of calm confidence.

Though it seemed that for now, in this very moment, something had shifted between the two of them. Things had never felt this calm between the duo and yet, the Swede would not actually mind such calm. Something the Swede's mind would not dwell on, less he would confuse himself and lose his carefully constructed mask of calm control and crack the walls he had build high around himself. He would not simply allow this brute to take a sledgehammer and tear down these walls. Nichlas hazel gaze was piercing as his eyes made contact with the brown eyes of the other. He wondered if Slava would be the one to break the silence first, it would certainly be more apt for it to be him who would not remain silent as it was already quite the surprise he hadn't spoken for the minutes in which they had danced.