Pajarillo

makocartwheels:

A little one-shot for my Tumblr peeps. No idea why it came out in present tense but…hope you like it.

Happy new year!

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Ryder’s hips swivel with the beat. She adds a slow wind that ripples up to her chest and shoulders. The sultry moan of muted trumpets grips her, along with the rhythmic three-step staccato of piano and snare interwoven with lyrics sung in the language her lover uses whenever he’s drunk or tired or emotional enough to slip back into his mother tongue.

She’s lost track of how many Cuba Libres she’s finished, the sweet acid burn of rum and lime slipping over her tongue and going unnoticed in her throat while the alcohol burns in her veins. Right now there’s just the pull of the music, the seductiveness of the dark room lit by neon red signs, the smell of sweat and barbeque pork and cologne hanging heavy in the air.

A spin, taken too fast, finds her back against a pillar, and Ryder presses against it to recover her balance. It’s easier to move in her high heels when she’s drunk, although she feels the pull of under-used muscles as she sinks into a dip and lifts her ass, snaking her upper body up after it. The wood floor is sticky with spilled drink, unhelpful for spins but perfect for keeping her footing on standing moves.

Turning to grip the pillar with both hands she swivels down again, knees wide, and eases back up, vaguely aware of an audience. Whoops and groans sound behind her. As she presses her chest against the pillar and arches back, hands skimming over her short blue dress, a golden gaze meets hers in the flash of a spotlight. She winks before snapping upright and springing into a basic salsa step. He’s gone by the time she turns around so she keeps dancing, driven by the beat and the rum-fueled energy pulsing along with her heartbeat.

A masculine presence approaches behind her and strong hands grip her hips.

Ryder freezes for a moment. She has a boyfriend and if this isn’t him, there’s going to be trouble. Only one man is allowed to touch her; she won’t have it from anyone else. Her rule, not his.

“Bailar conmigo,” a smooth, rich voice murmurs in her ear. A voice she recognizes immediately, even as a familiar whiff of woods and caramel spice blended with clean male sweat twines into her nose.

Reyes.

Laughing, she turns. Honey-coloured eyes, tinged the green of moss at the edges, flash in the spotlight as it finds them again before darting away. His hair looks somehow darker in the dim room, as if there was a colour darker than black. The top three buttons of his shirt are open, one more than usual, and he’s smirking when she finally raises her eyes from the sparse curls of hair on his chest.

“Baila,” he insists, and Ryder rests a hand on his shoulder to signal her readiness.

He doesn’t hold back; he rarely does. The room blurs as Ryder surrenders to his strength, allows him to guide her in the steps, to spin her and turn her. She can barely keep up if she tries to think about it. It’s easier if she allows her feet to move without thought as he turns her simple three-step into a real dance.

She’s lost all control. Reyes’ hand on her waist, his fingers twined with hers, the driving pulse of the music, trusting him to stop her falling as he dips her so low that she feels the ends of her hair brush the floor…it’s her entire world.

“Easy, nena,” he purrs as he pulls her upright. Ryder laughs again, hearing the tinge of wildness in it and not caring. She’s captured in his arms but she can trust him to hold her, to free her to fly across the dance floor.

In the back of her mind she knows she’s heavier when she’s drunk, less conscious of her body and more dead weight. Reyes makes no sign that he notices any difference, just continues leading her as lights flare and music wraps around them both. At the end of the song he abruptly pulls her flush against him, grinding against her.

Ryder gasps as her lips brush his, feels the rush of goosebumps racing over her bare arms. Reyes holds her close, the fingers of one hand laced through the hair at the nape of her neck and those of the other splayed low on her back. Her head tips back and her hips thrust forward automatically at the demand of his touch and she pants, their dance only part of the reason she’s out of breath.

“Reyes,” she pleads after a moment, unsure whether she wants him to free her or fuck her, there on the floor in front of everyone. He releases his grip on her hair, skimming that hand along her jaw and gripping her throat lightly before trailing it down her body.

The faint smile curling his lips tells her everything. She might be a little bird but he’s caught her and they both know it.

HAPPY. FUCKING. NEW YEAR.

This is a Horizon blog as ya’ll know, but oh man.

BEAUTIFUL god damn f!Reyder oneshot by the insanely talented @makocartwheels. 💕