Topic: Pas de Deux (Mature)

Anthony De Luca

Date: 2013-01-07 23:20 EST
((The following scene contains mature content. You have been warned.))

There was something surprisingly restful about a busy dance studio in rehearsal for a ballet performance. There were no egos within a working chorus, especially when the soloists were invited guests, not competition for the upcoming productions. The studio itself was large enough to hold the forty-plus danseurs at the twin barres by the far wall, a small group of danseurs doing floorwork, a larger group of danseuse working on their pointe form, and a couple of principal dancers blocking through individual dances. Among these was a young blonde danseuse, a woman who had worked hard to gain a good reputation as a strong solo performer, carefully stretching out her feet as she slipped her pointe shoes on over the various selected pads and strapping designed to protect her toes against the punishment of this advanced level of dance.

Anastasia Komarova - or Anya, as a privileged few called her - had been invited to dance just a single pas seule for the American Ballet Troupe's Opening Night Gala, on the proviso that it contained her most impressive feat. No other ballerina at present could perform 46 fouett's en tournant to the right, and 34 to the left, which had made her Odile at the Bolshoi this season past so spectacular. But for all that she enjoyed performing solo, Anya missed the joy of performing a deux with a partner who knew her almost better than she did herself. She felt a flash of guilt that she had not called him since coming back to New York, but for all she knew, he had moved on, found someone else to lavish his rare passion and tender affection on. She hated this hypothetical woman already, but she would not intrude. She was here to dance, and only dance. Tony didn't need the complication of her return into his life.

Tony hadn't felt this nervous since the first blind date Mataya had set him up with all those years ago. It had been disastrous, as dates go, but had led to him losing his virginity and gaining the confidence to start asking girls out on his own. Possessed of charm and natural good looks, the truth was that girls had never been much of a problem for him. There were always a few who were more than willing to lavish attention on him, when he had the time and inclination, but after his fateful meeting with a certain budding Russian ballerina, all other women paled by comparison. She had quickly stolen his heart, and he had never been the same. They'd kept in touch for a while after they'd parted, eventually falling out of contact as their individual careers took over their lives. For a while, he'd kept track of her career, but after she'd stopped calling, he'd done his best to push all thought of Anastasia Komarova from his heart and his mind, to little avail.

Even now, years after their whirlwind affair, he knew it would take very little to rekindle the flame that had once burned brightly. Was that why he suddenly found himself here, he wondered. He felt as nervous and giddy as a schoolboy with a childhood crush. He heard the whispers of the other dancers as he slipped quietly into the studio, and he silenced them with a finger to his lips. He had quietly changed into clothing more appropriate for dancing, black tights and shoes, a white fitted sleeveless shirt, which did very little to hide the sculpted muscles of a trained danseur.

Despite the fact that she had already warmed up, with her pointe shoes now on, Anya returned to the barre and joined in the warm ups once more. One hand rested delicately on the barre itself as she moved elegantly from first, to second, to third, fourth, fifth position, her back arched and feet pointed perfectly. The dance mistress simply nodded to her as she passed, knowing full well just who had just walked inside, and probably just who he was looking for. Feeling her muscles were ready, Anya slipped from the barre to find an open space, pulling off her sweater, shorts, and leg warmers to leave herself in the form-fitting leotard and tights all ballet dancers were so accustomed to wearing. As the music on the CD player switched over to a new track, she rose delicately en pointe and began to run through the exercises that would warm her feet and renew her acquaintance with the familiar ache of being up on her toes.

He watched as Anya went through the motions every dancer was accustomed to when preparing to dance, either on stage or in rehearsal, careful to remain hidden in plain sight among the other dancers. He quietly stretched and went through the preparations he had been doing most of his life and could repeat in his sleep - and often had. As experienced as he was, he knew one wrong move could be disastrous for them both, resulting in an injury that could take months to heal. He offered a respectful nod to the dance mistress when she met his gaze, hoping she wouldn't mind this unexpected intrusion of his. He knew he was taking a big chance just being here, but he doubted there was a single dancer in the room who didn't know who he was or about his history with the pretty danseuse.

"Mademoiselle Komarova, if you are ready?" Anya looked up as she lowered down onto her heels, meeting the ballet director's gaze with a faint smile as he gestured to the space kept open for actual rehearsal of steps. Murmuring a thank you to him, she moved into that space and waited for her music to begin. While not a solo piece, the adagio from The Sleeping Beauty usually being danced pas de deux, the choreographer had adapted the piece for a soloist, designed to show off the control and elegance of a technical piece. It was currently the bane of Anya's life, filled with complex steps danced at a rate far slower than she was used to and insisting on, in her opinion, too much time spent unsupported en pointe. Nevertheless, however, she settled into the piece as the music swelled, her eyes carefully watching her own position in the mirrors that lined the wall as she flowed from each position into the next.

Tony watched quietly from the side, like those around him, noting her movements, admiring the way she floated across the floor, making the dance look graceful and easy, when they both knew it was nothing of the sort. She'd improved since the last time they'd danced together. She'd grown more self-assured, more confident, but without a partner to help her through the more difficult movements or to lift her weightlessly off her feet, like a bird flying through the air.

She was beauty in motion, but she lacked something, and that something - he thought - was him. He waited until the music swelled and reached a crescendo before making his move. He might regret it later when the dance mistress and director realized what mischief he was up to regarding their little ballerina, but he'd worry about that later. One thing they could be certain of was that she would come to no harm while he was her partner - that much had been proved over the years. He felt an almost tense anticipation come over the dancers as he glided toward her, as well as collective, audible gasp.

He had picked the perfect moment to glide into the dance. As the music swelled to its crescendo, Anya found the last of her fouettes, snapping up en pointe with her arms raised with effortless elegance above her head. The only sign of surprise as a familiar hand found hers, its twin laying against her waist, was the subtle widening of her green eyes as her gaze found Tony suddenly beside her. And just like that, the pas seule became a pas de deux. She turned easily, lifting herself into a long arabesque with Tony, and felt the long-missed synchronicity return. It was as simple as breathing out, the re-ignition of the magic that had been sorely missing for four years. She knew where he was going, what he was doing, unafraid to look him in the eye with the familiar, secretive smile that had only been for him as the music gave them a pause before an ambitious lift she had only ever attempted with him.

Anthony De Luca

Date: 2013-01-07 23:22 EST
It was almost as if those four years apart simply melted away when they came together, one hand finding her waist, guiding her through the movements they had once mastered together. They moved together with grace and surety, like one knew what the other was thinking, like they were of one mind and one body, rather than two. His blue eyes met hers, and it was as if they had never stopped dancing together, the magic rekindled, if only for this one final performance. He took her through the arabesque, his body moving with hers, supporting her, making her look as graceful as a swan as she glided and twirled in his arms. For a single instant he felt his heart stop in his chest as he caught that familiar smile of hers and knew without asking what she expected of him. He caught her easily as she lunged toward him, lifting her high into the air as he turned in place, making it look easy and effortless, knowing the audience would focus on the graceful ballerina, not so much the partner at her side.

There are few things in the world more arresting than the sight of partners who were clearly born to dance together. As they flowed in and out of the complex and simple, the various activities in the studio came to a stop. The experienced dancers admired the technicalities and fluidity; the romantic envied the connection; the chorus fell in love with ballerina and ballerino. Even the instructors, usually so stern when it came to keeping a rehearsal on track, knew when something special was happening. And despite the exaggerated motions of every balletic gesture, somehow Anya and Tony brought an intimacy to the dance that many others lacked. Their eyes met often, they spoke to one another without speaking, their hands lingered just a moment longer than others might. It was as if they had never said goodbye.

When the dance finally concluded - as it inevitably must - the music slowing to a gentle close, Tony drew his ballerina close in an embrace that was part of the dance and yet unplanned, unchoreographed, and mostly unexpected. Both of them were covered in sweat and nearly panting with exhaustion, but none of that mattered. When the two of them danced together, it was almost like watching a pair of lovers making love. There was no more perfect symmetry of motion than this. He held her close, feeling her heart fluttering in her chest, his lips so close to hers he could almost taste the kiss that had not yet been offered. It was a moment filled with longing and anticipation and he was as lost in its embrace as she was, reluctant to break it.

Oblivious to the watching eyes, the held breath that they might witness something that hadn't happened in years, Anya gazed into Tony's eyes as he enfolded her in his embrace, her own arms finding their natural lay at his arm and shoulder as she stayed en pointe, held steady and safe in the curl of his arms. "Tony," she whispered his name tenderly, tasting his breath on her lips, daring to offer the kiss in return without allowing their lips to touch even for a moment. And abruptly, the world around them intruded with the loud crack of the dancing mistress' cane against the barre, calling the other dancers in the room back to their various exercises.

"Anya," he whispered back, swept away by the romance of the moment, almost as if they had never parted. Whether he admitted it openly or not, there was something in his gaze, in the way he whispered her name, and the way he held her close that suggested he felt something more for her than even she might have guessed. The shock of those rekindled feelings startled even him, shook him to the core of his being. How had he managed to live without her for the last four years without going mad"

It was something ballerinas had commented on for years - that when he danced, it was like no one else existed but him and his partner - but he had never felt this kind of magic with any other partner but her. He blinked, startled, as he heard the loud crack of the cane, breaking the spell that had momentarily held sway over them. He was also suddenly aware of the whispers and stares of the other dancers around them, but at the moment, no one else in the room really mattered but her. "I've missed you," he whispered quietly before drawing slowly back, allowing her to retain her dignity in the midst of the company.

"I ..." But he had already slipped away from her before she could answer through the thump of her heart, the dryness in her throat. Four years had just been wiped from the record; it was as if she had never walked away, as if they had never agreed to part ways for the sake of their careers. It had been the single greatest mistake she had ever made, and she had always been too proud to admit it.

As the time had gone by, the pain of being his friend had become almost too much to bear; yet the pain of knowing that he had allowed her to fade away from his life with barely a word had overwhelmed that. Every step she had danced since leaving Tony, she had danced hoping to make him proud of her someday, to prove that there was some reason for their split. And all that hope, all that pride, had just come to nothing. There had been no reason for her to walk away; Tony was and always had been her spark, the support and strength and comfort of her heart.

The ballet director stepped up to them, catching Tony before he could escape, and began to speak enthusiastically to them both. But Anya couldn't take her eyes from Tony, barely hearing what was being said as the director put forth the suggestion that, instead of adagio, would Tony consider dancing their pas de deux from Romeo and Juliet with Anastasia in the ABT Gala"

Between the two of them, he'd always been the more practical one, letting her go because he knew it was what she wanted, because he knew it was good for her career. He couldn't very well keep her all to himself, like a bird in a gilded cage. She'd only have ended up resenting him for holding her back, hating him. He'd let her go, always hoping she'd return, but after four years, that hope had dried up, and yet, here she was, standing so close he could feel her. His eyes never left hers, even as the director babbled close by, something about replacing her pas seule with a pas de deux. They'd always been better dancers together than apart. Why had it taken him four years to see it' "I can't," Tony started, forcing his eyes away from the object of his desire, even as he still held her in his arms. "It wouldn't be right. This is Anya's moment. She's worked hard for it. I won't take that away from her."

"No." For a moment, Anya didn't realise she was the one who had spoken, her heart overruling her head and her pride and taking complete control of her tongue as she continued. "No, Monsieur Hoffman is right," she agreed with the ballet director before he could leap in and try to convince Tony otherwise. The man was, thankfully, wise enough not to try and come between the dancers, aware that Anya had not so much as glanced at him as he spoke. Her hands gently flexed where they lay against Tony's arms, green eyes fixed on his face as she spoke. "I would rather dance with you than alone, Tony. I ....I want to dance with you again." And so much more, her eyes said, but she was not going to put that into words with so many eager ears ready to eavesdrop so close by.

Anthony De Luca

Date: 2013-01-07 23:23 EST
Tony turned back to Anya when she spoke at long last, saying more than just his name, the sound of her voice bringing back a rush of cherished memories. He studied her face, knowing her better than anyone, despite not having seen her for the last four years. She hadn't changed much more than he had. There was a new worry line here or there, but mostly it was as if no time had passed between them at all. He knew her well enough to know she would never agree to dance with him if she didn't mean it, not to spare his feelings and not to feed his pride or ego.

She would only agree to dance with him because she wanted to and perhaps because she knew as well as he did that they were better together than alone. He seemed to read something more in her eyes, something as yet unsaid, but now that she was here, there would be time to sort it out, time to see if the passion that had once flared between them had ever really faded. "Are you sure" This is your moment, Anya. I would never take that away from you." It's why I've stayed away for so long.

His gently questing query made her heart swell, deeply touched that he would even consider asking her such a thing, much less do it in front of a ballet director who could quite feasibly override whatever they decided between themselves. Her long fingers tightened on his arms for another moment. "I'm very sure," she assured Tony, and there was the smile that had been missing, a soft curve of her lips and light in her eyes that stripped the years away and turned her into the inexperienced ballerina he had first met years before. Finally, she turned her gaze to the director beside them. "Is there a private studio open?" she asked then. "We have not danced together in some time, we ....we will need privacy to grow accustomed to one another again."

It was an unexpected offer and a commitment he hadn't counted on making. He was already committed to the New York City Ballet, but considering the offer Mataya had laid upon the table, he wasn't sure how much longer that was to be the case. He just needed a few weeks, until after the Gala, to decide what to do, to know if anything would come of a reunion with Anya, and to find out in what direction they both wanted their futures to go. He gently pulled away from her, far enough to catch his breath and calm his racing heart, but close enough that his hands found hers and remained there. In the end, like four years ago, he let her decide, quietly allowing her to ask the necessary questions and make the necessary arrangements. Just like that, she had re-entered his life, but he knew it wouldn't be so easy as that to keep her there.

A few minutes later, the director stepped away, recognising that to stay close longer than was absolutely necessary would be pushing his luck far past breaking point. Anya raised her eyes to Tony once again, aware that she had just made a decision for them both that he really should have had a say in. "Are you sure?" she asked him quietly, loosing one hand from his as she moved to lead him out of the way, yet somehow ending up closer than before. "Truly sure?"

Was she kidding" He'd waited four years for this moment! But instead of saying this, he only smiled warmly, doing his best to keep his excitement and enthusiasm, which was mingled with more than a little fear, under control. Anyone who knew him well, however, might notice a light in his eyes that wasn't there before. It was a light that had once shone only for her. He followed her away from the center of the floor, making room for other dancers to rehearse. He knew it was going to take a lot of hard work, but hard work had never worried or frightened him; losing her had. "I would be honored to dance with you again," he replied, the smile on his face heard in his voice, even as he tried to remain as low key as possible.

Her smile lit up her face once again, the shy edge still there in the way her gaze slid away to look down at their feet for a brief moment. It had always been a nervous habit of hers, that slithering gaze, and it didn't hurt that it let her take in every inch of his frame in the process. Reluctantly, she let go of his hand to bend and slide into her shorts and leg warmers, straightening to pull the sweater back on over her head, keeping her muscles warm while they weren't in such demanding use. "When do you ....I mean, when would you like to rehearse?" she asked him softly. "I know you are busy with NYB."

Is that how we're going to do this" He wondered with a small frown, as he watched her, as familiar with her little quirks and habits as she was with his - the way her glance slithered away, almost shyly. What was she afraid of? He was still her Tony. He held his tongue, sensing it was too soon to try and insert himself back into her life again, when he had no idea if she wanted him there or had any room for him. "I'm sure I can find time. I'll make time," he replied as he watched her get dressed, forcing himself to keep his hands to himself, his own bag left on a bench across the room. "Are you....uh..." He faltered. Now that they were no longer dancing, an uncomfortable awkwardness had settled between them, and his stomach had twisted into nervous knots. "I was just wondering..."

"Would you like to have lunch with me?" She was entirely sure where the question had come from. It was an automatic thing, to invite him out with her, but she had never really asked him to eat a meal with her. It had just ....happened. But then, she had never felt so nervous with him before, either. Still, she forced herself to smile again, stroking the backs of her fingers against his in an innocent little caress that was suddenly not so innocent as it had first seemed. "Out there in the real world" Away from the gossips?"

He blew out a nervous breath, glad she had read his mind and his thoughts, or perhaps she was thinking the same thing. "We need to talk, Anya," he told her bluntly, well aware of the brief brush of her fingers against his, which sent a ripple of shock through him that was both unexpected and unsettling. Hadn't he almost just kissed her" Why had the confidence he'd felt while they'd danced together deserted him' He flicked a glance away from her to the other dancers who surrounded them, some lost in their own exercises, while others were surreptitiously watching and whispering back and forth.

She drew in a breath of her own almost in the same moment as he breathed out, rising up to loop an arm about his neck in a very familiar embrace that reeked of easy affection. "I miss you, too," she murmured against his ear, brushing her lips to his cheek in a soft kiss as she drew away, offering up a sweeter smile than most were used to seeing from her. "Just let me get changed. Where should I meet you?"

He breathed her in as she drew herself close to him again, one hand finding her waist as her arm looped around his neck, easy and familiar in each other's embrace as old lovers or close friends. He knew as well as she did that it wouldn't be long before news of their reunion traveled like wildfire through the grapevine of ballet dancers and aficionados - Anastasia and Anthony together again. "I'll meet you out front," he whispered back, the brush of lips against his cheek burning like a firebrand against his flesh. There wasn't much they could do to keep the gossip at bay, and he wasn't sure if he cared.

Anthony De Luca

Date: 2013-01-07 23:23 EST
The whispers were deafening in their attempt to be quiet as Anya smiled at Tony and stepped back, hooking up her bag from the wall and slipping from the rehearsal hall to skip along to the changing rooms. And like Tony, she wasn't sure she cared what was being said. What mattered was that he was back. They had danced together, and it had ignited long forgotten embers still smouldering in her heart, smoothing over the raw wound of not having him close for all these years. So eager was she to be near Tony again, in fact, that she changed in less time than she often managed. Less than twenty minutes after moving from his side, Anya was walking down the steps at the front of the building, bundled up warm in her coat as the soft wheat-fall of her hair whipped back from her face.

To him, it was more a matter of her coming back, making her long-awaited return to his arms, though he had a feeling if he hadn't come here, if he hadn't been so bold, she would never have called him, and the opportunity of a lifetime would have slipped away possibly forever. The irony of the timing of all this wasn't lost on Tony, but he didn't want to put the cart before the horse. One thing at a time. Four years was a long time to be apart, and he didn't want to feel the pain of her loss yet again. He changed just as quickly, just as full of nervous anticipation, into his street clothes - a pair of black slacks and a blue sweater that matched the shade of his eyes, a black wool pea coat to protect him from the harsh New York winter, his bag slung easily over one shoulder, already waiting for her when she came out. His whole face lit up at the sight of her, betraying the rekindled feelings he was having a hard time hiding.

Despite the chill of the wind, Anya's coat was undone, revealing the slender fit of her dark shirt dress, the tights protecting her legs from the cold, and the glitter of gold at her throat. Tony knew that locket; he had given it to her for her twentieth birthday. She only ever took it off when she was dancing, and if she could get away with it, not even then. With her own bag hooked over her shoulder, she stepped down onto street level beside him, automatically reaching to slide her long fingers between his. Away from the studio, from the prying eyes and curious ears, she was softer, more relaxed, less nervous with him. "Where shall we go, Tony?"

He followed her with his eyes, entranced by her, studying the subtle changes in her since he'd seen her last, as well as the similarities. Now that she had her hair down, he could tell she was wearing it longer. There was no ring on her finger to indicate that she belonged to someone else. He recognized the locket that hung at her throat. It wasn't worth much in the way of money. He'd still been a struggling dancer then, unable to lavish upon her expensive gifts, but it had been given from the heart, a token of his undying love, or so he had said.

He felt his heart twist painfully at the memory of it, not for the first time wondering how he'd let her get away. Her fingers found his, cold from the bite of the January air, hers warm and soft and familiar between his. "Some place quiet," he replied. A little coffee shop he knew nearby where no one would bother them. The usual crowd at the deli would wonder where he was, but he didn't want to deal with the curious glances and inevitable barrage of questions. He was deviating from his usual routine, but he didn't seem to care about that either.

He started with her down the street in the direction of the place he had in mind, unaware that a stranger had fallen into step behind them, ever watchful, even from a distance.

"Not the deli, then." Her smile was warm, as though they were sharing some secret between them. Of course she remembered his routine; it had been hers, too, once upon a time. But the coffee shop he was leading her toward, that had been her find when they had met. Her smile warmed as she remembered the first weeks, the first flush and discovery of this something they'd always had, right from the beginning. She'd moved into his apartment within the month, and had lived with him for almost a year before time and ambition had taken them away from one another. The silence that was growing around them was still a little awkward, but it held the promise of the easiness they had once shared, almost lulling her into believing things were the way they had been before. It took a vast effort not to lean close into his side as they walked, just a little shy of presuming that she was still welcome.

"No," he replied with an easy and even amused smile pointed in her direction. "Not the deli." He assumed she'd remember the little coffee shop she'd found once upon a time that had become one of their favorite haunts. It had been a long time since he'd been back there - there were too many memories for him there. Unlike the deli, the coffee was less than perfect, but the ambience and the company always made up for what the coffee lacked. Besides, they had the best chocolate fudge cake in the city. It was their own little secret place, and one he'd shared with no one, not even his sisters.

It was good to see him smile. Anya hadn't quite realised just how much she had missed that smile until she saw it pointed toward her for the first time in years, feeling her heart lurch in response. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss him, to taste his smile again and know he was hers, but she knew she didn't have that right. She didn't even know if he was single, assuming that he had found someone else and this was just a friendly courtesy. Hoping he was as free as she was and that this was a new beginning. "I thought you didn't like the coffee here?" she asked in a quiet tease, her smirk playful as she tossed his smile back to him.

"But you like the cake," he countered, flashing that easy-going, boyishly-charming smile her way again. His whole face lit up when he smiled, and he looked nearly as young as he'd been when they'd first met. It had been a whirlwind romance, both of them swept off their feet too quickly to logically think it all through. He knew if they weren't careful, they were in danger of making those same mistakes again, and he wasn't sure he could survive losing her again. He pulled open the door and held it for her, a little bell ringing quaintly overhead to announce their arrival.

"You're partial to the sweet stuff yourself, as I recall," she finished the tease with a wink of one pale green eye as he pulled the door open, slipping inside with a smile to the owner, who didn't seem to have changed position since the first time they'd found the place. The old man grunted and nodded to them, apparently remembering the pair, and Anya found herself automatically moving to the table set into a far corner ....their table ....without thinking. Halfway there, she hesitated, looking over her shoulder to Tony, her expression asking him if she should keep moving or choose somewhere else.

He followed her inside, a little amazed that the place hadn't changed. Hopefully, the food hadn't either, though admittedly, the coffee could do with some improving, but one couldn't always have everything. "A little chocolate every now and then never hurt anyone," he teased agreeably back. It was almost as if time had turned back the clock, and for just a moment, things were just as they'd been four years ago. A sliver of time in his thirty years of life - far too short for his liking. Ever the gentleman, he pulled out a chair for her before claiming one for himself, easing the bag off his shoulder, along with his coat and hanging them both over the back of his chair.

Anthony De Luca

Date: 2013-01-07 23:24 EST
They mirrored each other in that, her own coat and bag finding a secure place to hang on the back of the chair he drew out for her before she sat down, giving into the old habit of inching her chair around the table until they were at right angles to one another, very close but able to talk without developing a crick in the neck. Drawing her hair back from her face and over the shoulder furthest from him, Anya rested her forearms on the table, her gaze returning to his face. "Do you still feel the same way about Russian truffles?" she asked, seemingly innocent but for the inside joke implied.

"My feelings for Russian truffles haven't changed in four years, Anya," he replied, parrying her remark. Let her think what she wanted about that. He nodded his head to the locket around her neck, unable to not notice or mention it. "You're still wearing it," he said, not asking why, though his statement implied as much.

His reply brought that smile back onto her face, a little shy perhaps, but infinitely delighted. She didn't take it at face value; he knew her well enough to know what she had been implying, and to answer as he did was a wonderful gift to her. "I rarely take it off," she answered his remark about the locket at her throat, lifting her hand to open it up. Inside were settled two pictures of him; one from the year they had spent together, and the other from barely a year ago, taken from a magazine spread in which he had played a part. Her own picture, she had taken out of the locket years ago, not deeming it worthy to be with his when she had so callously walked away from him.

If the change in his expression was to be trusted, her answer surprised him, but not unpleasantly so. He shifted his gaze to the locket again, recognizing his own face held within the precious confines of the little gold heart, and his own heart lurched. Dare he think there was hope for them yet' "Anya..." he started, his voice betraying the loneliness of the last four years, even if he wouldn't openly admit it. "Why'd you stop calling?" he found himself blurting, unable to continue the charade until he knew the answer to his most pressing question.

She paled just a little. They'd both known the question was coming, but it seemed to have come just a little sooner than either of them had been expecting. She refused to give him a constructed lie, though, however much gentler it might seem. "Because it hurt," she told him honestly, looking down as her fingers curled through his once again. "It hurt to pretend to be your friend when I wanted to be more. It hurt listening to you telling me about your dates, and thinking how easy you found it to let me go ....I didn't want it to hurt anymore. If you'd asked, I would have come back. But you didn't. You let me disappear." Her hand tightened around his. "That hurt more than anything you might have told me about new girls in your life, or how well you were moving on. I thought you were happier without me."

He regarded her with a confused expression on his face, remembering it differently from her. He locked his fingers around hers, the pain of those first months apart coming back to him like it had only been yesterday. Whatever dates there might have been, whatever other women, none of them had ever come close to what he'd had with her. "I thought that was what you wanted, Anya. You wanted to travel, to see the world. You wanted so much more than I could give you, and I..." His gaze dropped to regard their linked fingers, the pain of their separation still almost too painful to discuss. "I didn't want to hold you back."

"Walking away was the biggest mistake I've ever made," she told him softly, folding her other hand over their wrapped knuckles. "Even when I realised it, I was too proud to admit the mistake and call you. So I danced for you instead." There was a soft scrape as she inched her chair closer, close enough to rest her chin on his shoulder and murmur into his ear. "No one will ever compare to you, Tony. There's only room for you in me."

There was still so much to say, so much to work out between them if they were going to have what they'd had once before, but there would be time for all that later. If there was a later. His sister wouldn't wait forever, but he had asked her for a little time, and a little time was the least she could give him. He turned his head to regard her as she settled closer, close enough that the temptation to kiss her was almost overwhelming. Why were they sitting in a coffee shop when they could be home in his bed" He could hear his own pulse pounding in his ears, and still, he wouldn't let his guard down. Not yet.

"You've gotten better. You're a prima ballerina now, Anya. That would have never happened if you hadn't left." It was true. They both knew it. Even if he hadn't intentionally wanted to, he'd have only held her back. She needed to leave, to find herself, to become all she could be, and to decide what it was she really wanted. Her words both pained and pleased him. Was she trying to tell him that she still loved him, that she'd never stopped loving him' They'd been so young, but they'd had four years to grow up, to be apart, and to know what it was to be on their own. Four years apart, and here they were, back where they started, needing to decide where to go from here.

Nose to nose with him, she found her gaze focusing on his lips as he spoke, admiring the line of his mouth as he formed each words, remembering how it had been to kiss him and wanting to know that feeling again. Remembering the thrill of dancing with him, and craving that feeling again. Her hand rose from where it covered their joined fingers, gently tracing the line of his jaw. "Where is the point in dancing well alone if all I wish is to dance with you?" she asked him quietly, wondering if perhaps she was being too forward, too bold in speaking her mind and heart so openly after so long. "I have missed you, lyubimaya, so very much. But I know I do not deserve to ask for a second chance." Her eyes were sad as she spoke, drawing that sweet endearment that had been his almost from the start from the depths of her most treasured memories.

His heart thumped in his chest as she drew her finger against his jaw, uttering the sweet endearment that brought back another flood of memories. He reached for the hand that had traced his jaw, closing both his hands around hers and turning his body to face her. He couldn't help but see the sadness in her eyes, very much mirrored in his own, but why did they have to be sad" Why couldn't life be like the ballets they had so often danced together" Why couldn't love conquer all" "Anya, don't say that," he chided, silencing her with a single finger pressed against her lips. "I've never stopped loving you. Not for a second. My life has been empty without you."

Hope flared in her eyes, painfully bright amidst the heartache that lingered in the pale depths. "Then ..." she hesitated for just a moment, inching just that little bit closer as his hands folded around her own, resisting the urge to kiss the finger that pressed to her lips with difficulty. "Tony, I have been invited to audition for the NYB. Would, would you mind terribly if I did" I don't want to walk away from you again. The only attraction this city has for me is you."

Anthony De Luca

Date: 2013-01-07 23:25 EST
He sighed, dropping his gaze to hide his own sadness. It seemed that just as she had returned to his life, he was fated to once again let her go. Why did it seem the timing of their careers was always destined to conflict with their desire to be together" "I don't know if I'm staying in New York much longer," he admitted, wondering what she'd said if he asked her to go with him. He didn't want to lose her again, couldn't lose her again, but he knew it was selfish of him to ask her to give up her own dreams to follow what amounted to a whim.

Her expression creased into a small frown as he broke her gaze. What was the problem, she wondered. Hadn't she just told him that she had given up on being the best and brightest' That all she wanted was to be with him' "Where will you go, if you do not stay?" she asked him quietly, half-afraid that despite his insistence that he still loved her, he was trying to let her down gently.

He wrapped his hands around hers again, her hand seeming so small and fragile inside his, like her heart, so easily broken. He felt like his was breaking all over again, unless....He lifted his head to meet her gaze, blue eyes hopeful once again. Did she love him as much as she claimed" Did she trust him' "I've been offered the opportunity to form my own company," he told her, waiting to see what her reaction to that would be before going on .

Pride rose on her face ....pride in him, and the prospect of doing what every successful dancer dreamed in the most secret part of their ambitions. "That's wonderful, Tony," she told him, warm enthusiasm bubbling up in her voice for him. "You would be a wonderful director of ballet. Where were you asked to set up" Will you do it?" Is there room for me"

His eyes betrayed uncertainty, not having quite decided yet whether or not to accept his sister's offer. It had only been a few days since they'd talked on the phone, and he was still going over the pros and cons of her offer in his head. One minute, he was leaning toward going, the next toward staying. Anya's reappearance only complicated things, though if there was anyone he wanted to take with him, it was her. "It's my sister. Mataya. Remember her" She said to say hello. She's....inherited a ballet studio, and she wants me to start a company for the theater so the dancers have something meaningful to strive for." He sighed and dropped his gaze once again to their clasped hands. "I'm not sure what to do. My family is there, and I'm here. You're here." He looked back at her again, unable to hide the conflict from his face and the loneliness from his eyes. "I don't think I can bear to lose you again."

Her smile turned amused as he commented on his sister, remembering a particularly bubbly woman a couple of years her senior who had been absolutely intent upon seeing someone else in her family get married just so she could be a bridesmaid. The way Tony spoke, it sounded as though Mataya now had a theater under her thumb, which Anya hoped was a good thing, and it made sense that he would be asked to set up a ballet company for that theater if that was the case. The conflict in his eyes made her smile soften, but not fade. "You never did learn to listen to me, did you?" she asked him gently, squeezing his hands in hers. "Lyubimaya, I just told you that the only reason I would audition for the NYB is because you are there. If you are not there, why would I waste my time" I walked away once; I would like to follow now. If you will have me."

"Follow?" he mimicked, dark brows arching over blue eyes bright with unshed tears. "You would do this for me?" he asked, still not quite hearing her or understanding that it wasn't for him she was asking to follow, not entirely. It was for both of them. Could he be so lucky to have her back in his life both personally and professionally'

"No, Tony," she told him gently, untangling her hand to let her palm find the curve of his cheek and jaw once again. She leant toward him, touching the tip of her nose to his with the tender smile only he had ever been able to raise from her, a smile that hadn't seen the light of day in four years. "I would do this for us. If there is still a chance for us."

"Anya," he started, looking back at her with undisguised wonder. It was his lucky day it seemed, but was he rushing" He'd had four years to miss her; four years to regret having ever let her go; four years to realize that if he ever got a second chance, he'd be a fool to waste it. "There's never been anyone but you," he told her, letting for of her hand to touch her cheek, drawing his fingers through her honey-gold hair. "My feelings for you haven't changed. I love you. I've always loved you. I'm always going to love you. Nothing's going to change that."

"I never stopped loving you, Tony," she murmured to him, the gentle pressure of his hand against her cheek drawing that smile into the full light of day as she held his gaze. "I'm sorry I did not call. I didn't know what I could say to you after I ..." She shook her head a little, drawing the pad of her thumb over the lips she had dreamed about so often since they had parted ways. "Why are we here?" she asked him, a playful quirk to her lips that matched the suggestive tease in her eyes. "It is off-season, there are no performances today. There are ....other things we could be doing."

He laughed for the first time in her presence since before she'd left four years previous, the sound of it warm and happy as it bubbled up from somewhere inside him. "Are you trying to seduce me, Miss Komarova?" he teased, with a playful twinkle in his blue eyes.

She shrugged, putting on a sweet, if unconvincing, show of innocence as she kissed the end of his nose, grinning playfully. "That all depends, Mr De Luca," she replied fondly. "It is only a seduction if I am talking you into something you want to do but don't want to admit to. Otherwise, I am being a brazen hussy and offering myself to you on a plate. Which would you rather?"

"As I recall, it was the other way around once upon a time," he replied with a smile as he leaned in to steal a proper kiss.

"Hey!" called a voice from the front of the shop. "Are you two gonna order something or just spend the afternoon smooching" I've got a business to run and rent to pay!"

Tony laughed again as the spell was broken once again, cheating them both of the first kiss they'd shared in years. Suddenly, he was in a hurry to have her all to himself, and he grabbed hold of her hand, pushing away from the table to his feet, nearly forgetting their coats and bags. "Come on. I can whip up something at my place."

She was already laughing before the owner had reached the 'y' in his "Hey!", rolling her eyes at the bad timing. But a kiss from Tony was worth waiting for, always, and it seemed she wouldn't be kept waiting long. Caught up by the hand, she laughed again, reaching for her coat and bag - unlike him, she remembered these things, even in the heat of the moment. He'd never lived in St Petersburg, though. "Do you still have the apron that demands that I Kiss The Cook?" she asked playfully, shrugging into her coat in one graceful motion.

Anthony De Luca

Date: 2013-01-07 23:27 EST
"I might," he admitted with a grin. "I haven't worn it in a while." There had been a time when he'd worn it with very little else, but again, that was a memory of their time together that he hadn't visited in a while. He threw his coat on and shouldered his bag. They'd come back for chocolate cake another day when they weren't hungry for something else. Once they were bundled again, he grabbed hold of her hand and hurried toward the door. If the proprietor of the place knew who they were, he made no mention of it. Tony left a few bills on the table for the man's trouble, though they'd only temporarily taken up space.

"Perhaps I should wear it this time," Anya murmured into his ear as he dropped the bills, deliberately blowing a kiss directly against his lobe before drawing away to pull him back toward the door and the chill of the January city. The bell rang out its merry little chime as they passed into the cold, hand in hand and smiling for the first time in years. "You still live close by?" she asked, anxious to be alone with him and failing to keep it much of a secret.

"I'd like to see that," he admitted with a grin, his heart feeling lighter than it had in years, despite Elena's troubles. He had his Anya back, and for the moment, nothing else mattered. He felt a shiver go through him at the brush of air from her lips, the kind of shiver that accompanied a desire of the flesh. "Mmhm," he murmured back in return, as she led him out into the January cold. He'd often considered moving from the apartment they'd once shared, but rents in the city seemed to rise with his salary, and since he rarely spent much time there anyway, he'd never quite managed to move.

Memory served her far better than she had thought it might, turning her steps in the right direction even before her brain had reminded her where in New York she was. Settling into step at his side, Anya hugged to Tony's arm, not quite able to wipe the silly smile from her face as she looked up at him. It had been far too long since she had felt this happy, and even this was nothing compared with how she was going to be feeling in a few hours' time, if she remembered certain other of his skills correctly. But for now, at least, she was going to have to keep it simmering. "Do you remember the pas de from our Romeo and Juliet?" she asked him curiously, citing the dance they had been asked to repeat for the ABT.

Not content to let her merely take his arm, his untangled himself from her only long enough to toss that arm around her shoulders, openly and affectionately. Let the paparazzi and the ballet groupies and the gossip mongers see and say what they will! He had his Anya back, and nothing was going to upset him. "I remember everything we ever danced together." He turned his head to eye her inquisitively. "Don't you?" he asked.

"I am tempted to say I don't," she admitted with a grin, tucking herself comfortably under the arm he threw around her shoulders. Her head rested on his bicep as she looked up at him, green eyes twinkling playfully. "If only so you will have to teach me all over again. You and your wandering hands." Oh yes, she remembered that season very well.

"Me?" he exclaimed, feigning shock with eyes wide, though full of equal amounts of mischief. "As I recall, you were the one who kept grinding against me. What did you expect me to do' Those tights only hide so much, you know." Yes, they both knew he wore a dance belt beneath his tights - the equivalent of a thong that helped support his manhood - but even that could not always hide the fact that she had a particular effect on his anatomy. He laughed at the memory she had rekindled in his brain. "I think we drove the director nuts."

Anya laughed once again, leaning into him in her mirth at the memory. "It was worth it for the performances," she said proudly. Juliet had been her first principal role, and with Tony's help, it had been a memorable one for all the right reasons. "My Juliet is a little older and wiser now now, though. Perhaps we could ...tweak it a little?" She flashed him a rather cheeky look from under her lashes. Tweaking the pas de could mean anything from inserting more complex steps, to changing the entire mood of the piece. They wouldn't know what worked until they had spent some time in the studio together.

He arched a curious brow down at her as he lead her the short distance to his apartment. He had purposely taken an apartment that was within walking distance of the studio and had easy access to public transportation to get him around the rest of the city. He'd never found it necessary to own a car, so long as he'd lived in New York. He knew the same couldn't be said of other cities, but New York had always been home. "Are we free to choreograph our own dance then?" he asked, all of this so sudden, he hadn't had a chance to ask about the details yet.

"He asked if we would dance our Romeo and Juliet," she reminded him gently, smiling once more. "We know the basic steps, but it is all about interpretation, isn't it' Besides, lyubimaya, we know each well. And the magic is still there. We could be dancing the Macarena, and it would be perfect."

He laughed again. "The Macarena. Now that would be something. I wonder what the critics would have to say about that. Anya danced divinely," he mimicked, raising his free hand to wave it through the air, as if he was reading a headline. "But Tony's performance left something to be desired." He laughed again, imagining the two of them doing something so ridiculously silly. It felt good to be laughing again and even better to know she was laughing with him. "We should give them something new, something they've never seen before. Something that will blow them completely away," he continued, turning serious.

"We have a couple of weeks to work on it," Anya assured him, drumming her fingers on his stomach for a moment as they turned toward his building. "The NYB can spare you for a guest spot with the ABT if they know what?s good for them, but I have no other commitments. I will work around you." They both knew that if they were both free, the working day would be punishingly long, but immensely satisfying at the same time. She bounced up on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Later, lyubimaya. I have other plans for you today."

He fished the keys to his apartment out of his pants pocket as she reached up to kiss his cheek. Turning his head toward her, the kiss just barely missed his lips. "And what plans would those be?" he asked with an amused gleam in his eyes, the arm that had been wrapped around her shoulder moving to circle her waist. He had a feeling once they were alone and behind closed doors, they'd both surrender to a different kind of hunger than that of the stomach.

Anthony De Luca

Date: 2013-01-07 23:28 EST
She laughed softly in the back of her throat as his arm shifted about her, pulled closer just by the change in position. "I thought a good seducer never gives away his or her intentions?" she asked innocently, blowing a hank of honey-gold out of her eyes as she looked up at him with a ridiculously exaggerated leer. "I thought you were going to feed me."

"A-ha! So, you admit you are trying to seduce me!" he exclaimed, flashing a boyish smile. "That depends on how hungry you are," he said, his arms going around her as he turned to face her, his fingers locking together at the small of her back. "Would you like to eat now or later?"

Caught up against him, Anya let her own arms rise to grip the sleeves of his coat where they lay over the biceps she'd once been in the habit of tickling with kisses while he was asleep, sharing his smile with him in a twinkle of good humor. "Oh, I really don't know," she teased softly. "It's too cold out here to make any real decisions, you see. Unless you're thinking of repeating your 25th birthday surprise in the middle of the day."

He arched a brow as he thought back to his 25th birthday, which seemed like ages ago, though it had only been five years. "You wouldn't," he said, wondering if she was serious. "Would you?" He abruptly looked around to see if anyone was watching, in case she decided to make good on her threat. He felt a sudden, unexpected rush of heat, his face flushing hotly, and he tugged her toward the building in a hurry to get inside.

"We do have a lot of time to make up for," Anya was in the midst of musing as he suddenly took off moving once again, dissolving into soft laughter as she found herself pulled toward the building. It wasn't just his face that was flushing; that particular birthday of his had contained a rather daring surprise which had taken place outside his apartment unexpectedly, and though she probably wouldn't repeat it right now, the memory was enough to bring a rosy flush to her own cheeks as she found herself hurrying with him.

It didn't take him long to fit the key into the lock and open the door, tugging her inside and up the three flights of stairs to the small studio apartment he'd been renting ever since she'd known him. Thankfully, few tenants were there during the day, most of them busy at work. Another key unlocked yet another door, and he was tugging her into the small but cozy confines of his apartment and shutting the door behind her. The place hadn't changed much since she'd left, but he didn't allow her much time to notice. As soon as they were alone, he had her pinned against the door and was tugging at her coat while his lips at long last sought out hers.

Long legs found the stairs easy to navigate as she mounted the three flights with Tony, his impatience seeping into her as they came to a momentary halt outside his apartment door. She didn't dare reach out to touch him, not so close to the promise of privacy, and yet, once they were inside, he was ahead of her in pressing his suit. Her bag thumped against the wall as she let it swing away from her, arching from the door at the back as her coat came undone, as her hands forced their way beneath his coat, as her lips parted beneath his. It had been far too long, and as they both knew, time waited for no man. "Tony ..."

He let the bag slide from his shoulder with a thump against the floor, his hands hurriedly stripping her of the coat and tossing it carelessly aside onto a chair. He hesitated briefly as her lips parted to breathe his name, and his body flared with a rush of heat, like a candle bursting into flame. "Anya..." he whispered back, his lips hovering close to hers, so close he could taste her breath, his voice a soft plea of surrender. It had been too long, and no matter how many women might have wanted him, he wanted only her.

As her coat fell away, his came free under her hands, and for a moment she was completely still, almost afraid to move, afraid to give into the passion that had remained unsated since the day they had parted. She almost couldn't believe that it was him, that they were there together once again. But then there was her name on his lips, in the voice she had missed with an ache she hadn't been able to name, and she was moving once more, her hands rising to curl to his cheeks as she stole another kiss from his lips, soft but demanding, hungry for him and only him. It was like the dance all over again; but for the years that had passed between each moment, they might never have been apart at all.

Her kiss - only the second, but promising many more - seemed to give him the answer he was looking for, and he answered that kiss with equal hunger, groaning against her lips at the mingled pain and pleasure her kiss offered. His body was suddenly on fire, every nerve ending burning with agonized desire. Too long this hunger had been denied, too long they had been apart. This was yet another kind of dance, and one they knew very well. His fingers worked at the buttons of her dress, in a hurry to claim her once as his once more, as his mouth ravaged hers, hungrily, needfully, demanding as much as she was willing to give.

She was willing to give everything he desired and more, her own desire burning as brightly for him as his burned for her. There was little that was romantic in this frenzied rush to disrobe, a hurried, messy clash of bodies eager to touch and taste and feel together after an abstinence that had lasted for what felt like an eternity. She was patient only until the buttons of her dress were undone to her waist, shrugging the dark cloth down from her shoulders and off her arms to skim to the floor as her hands returned to him, grasping the hem of his sweater to lift it up and over his head. Her lips never ceased to give and take, murmuring breathless endearments, words of love and passionate desire that were lost with each kiss that stole that breath away from her.

Four years of loneliness could not be made up in one coupling or one day, but it was a start. He sensed the passion in her that matched his own, the longing and desire, the pain of all those lonely nights spent lying awake and thinking of each other from across the other side of the world. Why had they ever parted" It had been a mistake, and one he promised himself he wouldn't make again. He moaned her name between languid kisses lavished upon her lips, his hands moving over her, rediscovering her all over again, breaking off only long enough to tug the sweater over his head. He kissed her again, as he swept her off her feet, into his arms, as light as a feather was his little ballerina. He took her to his bed and laid her back, covering her body with his as he indulged in exploring her further, remembering what made her breath catch and what made her moan.

Her boots made two successive thumps against the floor as he lifted her off her feet, her entire being focused solely upon kissing him, feeling his skin beneath her hands. She was already trembling with the delicious thrill of anticipation as she felt herself swept around and laid back, not even needing to glance about to know where she was. She'd lived here with him during the whirlwind of their first time around; she knew the apartment intimately. She'd even been responsible for the coffee stain on the ceiling in the kitchen during one memorable lesson in how to please an Italian.

Anthony De Luca

Date: 2013-01-07 23:28 EST
But all these thoughts were a brief flutter in the back of her mind as Tony lay with her, the slender body he had helped to train and she had honed ruthlessly in his absence arching up to him from the softness of his sheets as she moaned his name. Her fingers trailed from his collarbone, over the sculpted definition of his chest and abdomen, to flick open the fastening of his pants before dropping to her own waist, rolling the soft wool of her tights down from her hips even as he did his damnedest to distract her from anything but lying still. "Tony, so good," she heard herself whisper as she kicked the wool from her feet, wrapping her legs about his hips to press intimately close, and yet not close enough.

He wanted to take his time with her, to explore her body and rediscover her, to memorize every subtle change. He had already noticed small things - the length of her hair, a different perfume - but there were other changes no one might notice but him. As soft and as feminine as she was, her body was stronger, her muscles more defined than he'd remembered, and he knew she had been hard at work to perfect her body and hone her craft. All of this was noted and filed away at the back of his head, but not mentioned. Not now, not when the desire he felt for her was so intense, so immediate. He groaned again as her legs wrapped around his hips, his desire for her very apparent, forcing himself to pull away just a little, just for a moment. "Do you need me to use protection?" he asked, his lips grazing her cheek, his voice a ragged whisper, thinking only of her. In their frenzy to have each other, he had almost forgotten to ask, not knowing if she was already using something that would make his question unnecessary.

Common sense said that her answer should have been yes; though she had not been with anyone else since they had parted, she didn't know if he had been active enough to risk passing something on. The risk of creating a little person was significantly lower between them than it might have been a few years back - between the Pill, and the strain her body went through on a daily basis, there was little to fear when it came to pregnancy. His question, however ragged, however yearning, stilled her for a moment, her body relaxing just a little as she drew her fingers through his hair, down the line of his back, her own lips brushing against his jaw as she answered. "I'm on the pill," she promised him softly, leaving it to him to choose whether or not he needed anything more. Her head fell back, green eyes seeking out his gaze as she smoothed her fingertips against his temple. "There hasn't been anyone since you."

Even the simple drag of her fingers through his hair and against his bare back sent a tremor of desire through him. He needed to hear no more, believing her and trusting her implicitly. Blue eyes met those of green, dark brows arching curiously, surprised at her admission and yet not so surprised. He'd been on a few dates since they'd parted, but nothing had ever come of them. None of them could even come close and he'd given up trying long ago. "I haven't been with anyone either," he replied as he looked down at her, wondering if she'd believe him.

Sure, there had been a few names linked to his in the tabloids, but he hadn't been part of a serious relationship since she'd left. No one had ever been able to take her place in his life or his heart.

A tender smile lit up her face, a sweet, strange contrast to the passion in her eyes as she arched beneath him once more, her breath shuddering in her throat at the exhilarating friction between them. Of course she believed him over the gossip in the tabloids; he had no reason to lie to her. "Then we don't need anything, do we?" she asked him softly as her hand smoothed from his cheek, down along the column of his throat to press lovingly over his heart.

That was answer enough for him. Her touch, soft as it was, sent another tremor through him. No other words were needed. They had always spoken their own language - the language of the heart. Her eyes told him all he needed to know, as did his. His lips found hers again, kissing her softly, gently, offering up all the love he was feeling, just like he had years before, the flame rekindled and burning brighter than ever. Beneath it all burned a passion that could not be extinguished, that, despite four years apart, burned as brightly now as it ever had.

That flame of passion had only been simmering, waiting to come to life once again. He divested her of what remained of her clothing, his eyes devouring the view that she kept hidden from others, for his eyes alone, exploring her again, memorizing her with all his senses - tasting, touching, watching the expression on her face as he played her body. Only when he thought she could wait no more did he slip away so that he, too, could become naked before her, as he had been with no one since she'd left.

The frenzy that had brought them almost to the brink had ebbed away as they paused, the rekindling a softer thing that struck deeper to the heart and soul than any passing moment of passion ever could. It was the tenderness, the affection, the love that simmered there that gave their shared desire the edge above any other. And it was that loving tenderness that held her back from any further demand as his attentions turned to an exploration of her form that she knew, beyond any shadow of any doubt, she would be allowed to reciprocate before night fell over the city that had brought them together twice now. The enkindling was a slow thing, a gradual burn that began with breathless sighs and the gentle writhe of her body under his touch, only to become something wilder, harder, impossible to ignore as soft pleas broke from her lips, begging him not to tease her any longer.

He slipped from her just before that stunning burn could ignite into full flame, her body arching up as she rose to sit, watching him as he divested himself of what remained of his own clothing. He was beautiful to her eyes, an Adonis she did not deserve but would always be grateful for, worthy of comparison with the greatest of Greek and Italian sculpture. She raised a hand to him, inviting with gesture and smile and intimate gaze to return to her. "I love you, Tony."

He'd waited four long years to hear those words from her again, never in his wildest dreams thinking she'd be here with him again, that they could possibly recapture what they'd had, but he had to admit now that she was here, it was even better than he remembered. His heart felt as though it had burst wide open when she uttered those three little words, joined by his name as if to make sure it was meant just for him and no one else. They belonged together, and he wasn't going to let anyone tear them apart again. He moved over her again, barely able to contain himself, trembling with desire, hesitating only a moment to make sure she was ready and then he was inside her, filling her emptiness with the heat of his own passion.

Anthony De Luca

Date: 2013-01-07 23:39 EST
"I love you, Anya," he echoed her declaration of love, his voice full of emotion, breathing out a heavy sigh as he submerged himself in her exquisite warmth. He paused briefly to savor the moment, feeling her muscles thrumming around him, aching for him, needing him as much as he needed her.

She welcomed him into her with a sweet cry of delight, feeling the steady pulse of her desire wrap itself about him as he found his place, easing into his arms as though she'd never left. His breath warmed her skin as she tensed and relaxed, thrilling to the sensation of him in and all around her, the way her senses were overwhelmed by everything that was him. A low whisper left her lips to ghost against his ear as she very gently began to rock beneath him, impatient for more as they reached this last test of their smouldering connection. "I've missed you so much," she promised him as her long-fingered hands smoothed down over his back. "So much, lyubimaya."

"Never again, Anya," he whispered back, his breath warm against her neck, his voice a whisper of a promise beside her ear. "Never losing you again," he muttered as his rocked his body against hers, finding the perfect rhythm in this dance of the flesh that echoed the passion that had burned between them as they'd danced the pas de deux. Too long denied, too long apart, it took only moments for their passion to crest and explode, and he cried out with the intensity of it, her name whispered over and over like a prayer against his lips. He buried his face in her hair, shuddering with the intensity of shared feeling and emotion. "Cara mia, ti adoro," he whispered against her hair, holding her close against him, his heart racing in his chest, feeling close to tears.

Slender strength and tender gentility came together in that rush toward completion that saw them both breathless in a blinding moment of unearthly perfection. Anya trembled in Tony's arms as he curled himself around her, wrapping her arms tight about his torso as she felt his breath in her hair. This was where she belonged, she knew now beyond a shadow of a doubt; this was what she had been aching for. Not so much the passion, though that was a delight in itself, but the close intimacy, the connection, the bone-deep understanding that there was more than simple attraction here between them. As he whispered to her in the language she had never been able to master but loved to hear from him, a soft, dry sob caught in her throat, a happy declaration of quiet sound muffled tight against his neck as she turned her face into the crook between neck and shoulder.

He sensed the break of a sob from her before he actually heard it, and he rolled onto his side to face her, taking him with him. "Shh," he soothed, drawing her into his embrace once again to hold her close. "I'm here, I love you, and I'm never losing you again." He pressed a kiss against her hair as strong arms held her close in an embrace that was warm and tender. "We belong together, Anya. We've always belonged together."

As he turned her into his embrace, she moved easily to his touch, tucking herself as close as she could. There were no tears, but rather the sense of something broken, some hardness she had accumulated without him that she had suddenly found there was no need for any longer shattering inside her with a shock that rippled to the end of every nerve she possessed. "I should never have left," she whispered to him, her lips brushing against his shoulder as he held her close. "I am sorry, so sorry, Tony. I will never do it again."

He lifted his head to regard her, seeing no tears in her eyes but a brightness that hadn't been there before, as if she was finally realizing that they were better together than apart, that they were meant to be together, that they belonged to each other. He pressed a finger against her lips, like he had a short time earlier, hushing her reproach. "What's done is done, Anya. You are a better dancer for it, and I..." He frowned a little as he considered what lesson he'd learned from the last four years without her. "I've learned not to take anything for granted."

Her head tipped back as he looked at her, showing off those bright eyes to him without a moment's hesitation. She had never been afraid to show Tony what she felt, to tell him what she thought, and though they had had some spectacular arguments in the past, they had never gone to sleep angry with one another. But she felt the guilt for how hard that lesson had been for them both to learn, nuzzling to him tenderly in the hope of sweeping the frown from his face. Her lips caught his in a soft kiss as she breathed him in, breaking the intimate touch with a half-smile. "Isn't it a shame we can't incorporate this into a performance?"

His thumb brushed her cheek as her lips caught his once again, his eyelids drifting closed as he savored her kiss. He had missed her so much. Words would never suffice. His life had felt empty and meaningless since she'd left; it hadn't been life, just mere existence. She was everything that made life worth living. She was all that he needed. He sighed as her lips left his, a soft drowsy smile on his face. "Remember the reviews, Anya" Sizzling. Sexy. Captivating. Watching Tony and Anya dance is as mesmerizing as watching a couple in love. It is beauty in motion." They weren't his words, but words that had been written about them when they were at the height of their popularity.

"Anthony and Anastasia," she corrected him in a lazy drawl that seemed to pick the purring syllables rounded out by her accent and accentuate them through her own smile. "Very few people can call me Anya without repercussions." And most of those were members of his family, too. Resting her forehead to his, she gazed into his eyes, enjoying the drowsy satisfaction that painted his face. "Dance with me, Tony. Every day, dance with me."

"I will, Anya," he promised drowsily, dreamily. He'd probably wake up later and think it had just been a lovely dream, only to find her sleeping peacefully beside him, like an angel from heaven. His Anya. Her Tony. Together again. This time, forever.

((Grazie to Anya's player for the above scene. Awesome fun. Ti adoro! :grin:))