The BLTS Archive- Dance to Forget
by Amiroq. aka Gypzy (fitchett@netaccess.co.nz)

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Disclaimer: no $$$

Thanks to Seema for butting heads with me over stylistic differences.
:) If you think you know who originally said the teaser, drop me a
line. (Hint: it's from "Erotion")

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Sometimes I think you could charm your way into anyone's pants. You're
like an aroiti snake, the kind that releases pheremones into your
blood even as it drains your life, the kind that never even lets you
know you're dying. I think you like a challenge, which is why you hit
on me when you're drunk but flirt with the naivety of a two-year-old
when you're sober, and why I'm wandering the ship, alone, at 0200
hours.

I take the roundabout route to the holodeck, and am surprised to find
Sandrine's already open. You're in there alone. I can see you from the
doorway, dancing with Tom's brown-haired hologram and smiling at some
private joke. I walk up behind you and sit on the edge of the pool
table to watch.

You dance well, you know, even when you're drunk. You told me once
that it was because your parents made you take ballroom and
contemporary dance lessons when you were a kid. It shows. You spin the
hologram - Becky? - round and dip her down, and I know you saw me but
I couldn't tell when. Maybe you're just putting on a show, and when
the song ends you'll delete Betty and come talk to me.

Your breath smells of expensive wine, and you sit down next to me on
the table. You're silent, leaning back on your hands, watching me. I
don't know when the silence came from, and it scares me.

"You dance well," I say finally.

I don't see why that makes you laugh. "I couldn't sleep, either. I
wanted to dance."

Somehow, I'm not surprised that you know why I'm here. It's easy to
figure out. But I can think of nothing more to say, so I look at the
ceiling and tell the computer, "Play selection 'De Cara a la Pared'."

You look at me, and I stand up and hold out my hand, glad when you
take it. For most of the song we're silent; the melody is fluid and
the lyrics beautiful, though I doubt you know what they mean. I can
feel your body, and the warmth of your skin. You smell, not only of
wine, but of day-old cologne and a sheen of sweat. You dip me like you
dipped Britney and I can see the wild, barely-controlled look in your
eyes that means you got bitter again. Your hands are nearly earning
you a slapping.

Once again I'm the first to speak. "My father loved this song," I
murmur, head resting on your shoulder. You make no reply, and by the
time the room is echoing the very last chords, you have left me alone
in the middle of the room. Just before you reach the door, you turn,
and say softly, "'Some dance to remember. Some dance to forget.'"

You're a snake.

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The End