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dethoratsTitle: Once Across the Deck
Rating: G
Pairing: Ben/Shanks
Word Count: 323
He didn’t dance. Well, okay, that wasn’t entirely true. He did dance, but only under protest and because he was forced to. For some reason, Shanks’ schemes to get treasure or information from the leaders of various towns and cities always involved him keeping the leaders’ daughters entertained. And that inevitably meant dancing and sore feet. Needless to say, his opinion of the activity wasn’t very high.
On the other hand, Shanks and most of the rest of the crew loved to dance. Of course, much of the dancing they did was of the freewheeling or folk kind, although the captain made sure every last one of them knew how to waltz. Infiltrating higher levels of society was nearly impossible without that skill. Generally though, his crewmates stuck with less formal dances, and he was perfectly content to sit in a corner and watch their exuberant, often alcohol-fueled displays. There was no need to demonstrate any kind of enthusiasm for that kind of exercise. Shanks would probably get the wrong idea and find some way to make him dance even more.
Then came that fateful day. Shanks recovered soon enough and was back in the midst of the inebriated celebrants almost before he knew it. But he noticed that Shanks never bothered with any of the paired dances any more. One night, after nearly everyone had passed out either above or below deck, he’d swallowed down his apprehension at encouraging the captain and asked. Shanks had smiled up at him, the one that made his heart melt a little each time, and moved in to rest his cheek on one shoulder.
“There’re very few people I’d take the lady’s role for,” the captain sighed as he settled Ben’s arm firmly about his waist, “but you can lead any time ya want.”
That night, moving slowly in the familiar three step pattern across the deck, Ben decided maybe dancing wasn’t so bad after all.
Rating: G
Pairing: Ben/Shanks
Word Count: 323
He didn’t dance. Well, okay, that wasn’t entirely true. He did dance, but only under protest and because he was forced to. For some reason, Shanks’ schemes to get treasure or information from the leaders of various towns and cities always involved him keeping the leaders’ daughters entertained. And that inevitably meant dancing and sore feet. Needless to say, his opinion of the activity wasn’t very high.
On the other hand, Shanks and most of the rest of the crew loved to dance. Of course, much of the dancing they did was of the freewheeling or folk kind, although the captain made sure every last one of them knew how to waltz. Infiltrating higher levels of society was nearly impossible without that skill. Generally though, his crewmates stuck with less formal dances, and he was perfectly content to sit in a corner and watch their exuberant, often alcohol-fueled displays. There was no need to demonstrate any kind of enthusiasm for that kind of exercise. Shanks would probably get the wrong idea and find some way to make him dance even more.
Then came that fateful day. Shanks recovered soon enough and was back in the midst of the inebriated celebrants almost before he knew it. But he noticed that Shanks never bothered with any of the paired dances any more. One night, after nearly everyone had passed out either above or below deck, he’d swallowed down his apprehension at encouraging the captain and asked. Shanks had smiled up at him, the one that made his heart melt a little each time, and moved in to rest his cheek on one shoulder.
“There’re very few people I’d take the lady’s role for,” the captain sighed as he settled Ben’s arm firmly about his waist, “but you can lead any time ya want.”
That night, moving slowly in the familiar three step pattern across the deck, Ben decided maybe dancing wasn’t so bad after all.
