Sway with me

an extremely short bit of fluff

It was early, she was the first one home, nothing new there. After all she was the only one with true “set hours” hurray for being a teacher. She smiled as she kicked off her shoes, and hung her keys up on the little shelf by the door.

As the first home, it was her job to get dinner ready. She didn’t mind, in a house full of men who loved to cook, she really did enjoy taking her turn occasionally. She hummed the song that had been stuck in her head all day as she padded through the dark living room, she paused at the entertainment center. They’d all pitched in for the Bose system that could flood the entire house and basement with music. Usually there was a mix playing of things they all enjoyed. Which generally resulted in jumps from death metal, to soft jazz.

She was alone, it mean that she had choice of what to play, and for once she was going to indulge her mood. She reached into the inner most pocket of her jacket, her 80g zune was a first generation, but she loved it. She clicked down to one of her favorite artists, and connected the mp3 player to the system.

Michael Buble’s smooth voice crooned at her from hidden speakers all throughout the house, she sighed and swayed in time to the music, spun, and headed to the kitchen. The song was “it’s time” one of her all time favorites, it never failed to take her away. She lost herself to the music and the simple act of getting together a meal for the five to seven people that usually showed up. With enough presence of mind enough to change clothes before she really got cooking, she slid across the kitchen in shorts, socks, and a long sleeve shirt that she was fairly certain wasn’t hers.

She sang along with “moon dance” as she pulled several pans of  enchiladas out of the oven and set them on the cooling racks. Warm hands wrapped around her waist, a body molded to her back and swayed with her as she set the pans down. She pulled off the gloves and was spun out, and back in as arms wrapped around her. She smiled as she looked up at him. He never danced while anyone else was around, when asked he said he didn’t dance. Ever. But for her, he did. He whirled her around the kitchen with a gleam in his eye as he sang the song right along with her.

She laughed for him when he dipped her back, and ran her hands through his hair. The song faded out, and he twirled her again to a salsa beat. That was how the rest of the house found them later, still dancing while dinner got cold.

Author's Note

just for feels