🌹Luka - Rehearsing with you: Debut
🩸Thorns: none
💐Included flowers: soft touch, both yours and Luka’s / neck kiss / Luka rehearsing and using you for choreography practice / only fluff oneshot
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Luka had been walking softly from one corner to the other for a while, some papers in one hand, the other occasionally gesturing into the air; his lips moved, shaping the words that must have been there on those sheets already almost crumpled from being read and reread so many times.
He was rehearsing.
You had already been with him long enough to recognize when a performance was approaching. Even though Luka showed no nervousness or expectation — his serene and almost expressionless face sometimes gave the impression that it was not even a deadly competition — you knew Luka would not stop rehearsing, day after day, until he had everything perfectly synchronized and prepared.
And looking from the outside, everything already seemed ready. If it depended on you, Luka could already take the remaining days as rest — and receive a little more food.
But it did not depend on you.
Nor on him.
His frustrated sigh catches your attention.
Uhn?, is Luka showing some discomfort? Was it you? He had never...
Luka’s eyes lock intensely onto yours the instant he turns his head; he seemed drawn by your thoughts. You wait for him to say or explain what is happening, but forget that with him things do not work so normally.
With restrained and measured steps, Luka approaches; stops a few centimeters away, and checks something in the papers. He shakes his head, murmuring something inaudible. And just as you finally consider asking what was going on inside that blond head distorted by abuse, Luka smiles at you.
Sweet.
Gentle.
Dangerous
But, please, no. He does not want to hurt you.
Luka simply forgets that he needs to communicate verbally if he wants you to understand his thoughts. He has another objective as a priority; it is not effective at all to waste time justifying and explaining so many things. One day, you get used to his sudden and subtle approaches and actions — your relationship with Luka is something he himself still studies in order to understand how to act and make it work.
Without warning, he raises your hand, like a gentleman about to lead you into a dance — was he really going to do that?
Luka ran his eyes over a line on the paper.
He let go of your hand, and took the other one the same way, but this time more firmly; he continued murmuring the following lines of whatever was written there and then pulled your arm softly.
He spun you and almost made you bump against his chest, but Luka himself moved away and sighed, interrupting everything, murmuring something about it not working.
He repeated it again, but instead of spinning you, he pulls you close and moves his fingers up, brushing all the skin of your arm until your shoulder, then your collarbone, and then your chin. The tip of his index finger subtly lifts your face so that you keep your gaze fixed on his face — now, close enough that only a few centimeters remain between the lips of you both.
For an instant, his gaze seemed loving enough to cause an irregular beat in your heart.
It seemed.
Luka checked the paper once more and murmured the next line. He let go of your face and moved away as if nothing had happened.
He was rehearsing. And you were the training dummy that would help perfect the movements during practice.
Now you were the one frustrated, and not even your deepest sigh took Luka out of his concentration.
The hand on your waist spun you in a semicircle and placed him behind you, the papers still the target of Luka’s eyes — he did not even need to see exactly where he was going, his body obeyed him as if it already knew the paths on its own. One of his arms closed around your waist, placing his chest pressed against your back; Luka’s face leaned over your other shoulder to better read what he held in front of you.
He was humming.
— Hm... Luka?
You tried to call him softly, but he did not even seem to hear.
Graceful, Luka moved with his hand still fixed on yours until he was in front of you again, keeping them raised between you. He let it go. Reread the paper. Now took your other hand and repeated the gesture.
The creases between his eyebrows were deeper. Now Luka’s frustration was becoming real — and maybe he did not even realize he was letting some emotion show.
— This is not working...
Luka murmured, rereading the papers from the beginning — in truth, he had already memorized them to such an extent that his lips whispered the following words before his eyes finished reading the previous ones.
— There is something missing, Luka.
Your voice made him blink and look at you, as if only then realizing he was not alone.
Had he forgotten something?
Luka checked the papers once more; no, everything seemed exactly as it should be, so what were you...
You took the papers from his hand; Luka’s eyes widened and he almost let a surprised and confused expression escape, but he was silenced by the shock of you pulling him and guiding his arms until both hands rested on your waist. Before Luka could try to understand what you were doing, your body placed itself against his to the point that your warmth became a dense weight mixed with his; your arms wrapped around his neck.
That would have been enough to leave Luka frozen for a while, but your lips soon touched the skin of his neck and, in the next instant, your head was resting there.
Luka was in shock.
Warm.
Confused.
But involved — and safe
What were you doing?
The beats of his heart, always so minimally controlled, began to beat in a strange way, as if rebellious and demanding to leave the rhythm — it was a struggle to make them continue in their usual pace.
A quick peek at his face made you smile; blushing, clearly dazed, his confused gaze looked more like that of a child lost inside her own home than that of a grown adult molded to always be the best.
— See? That was what was missing.
You told him with so much conviction — but Luka did not understand.
Fixed on your gaze, he could not stop staring at your face. In truth, he wanted time to freeze forever so he could stay trapped in that bubble with you.
Somewhat bewitched by that warm sensation he tried to keep beneath his skin, but that seemed to want to burst out and burn him alive, Luka raised a hand and repeated the gesture of tracing your collarbone until reaching your chin, his fingers subtly lifting your face so it would remain turned toward him.
Between his long lashes, his drenched and curious gaze rested on your lips. The lyrics of the song he was supposed to present echoed in Luka’s mind, but this time, its words seemed wrapped in honey, and the melody arranged them as if in a banquet written for kings.
No, Luka did not understand what you had claimed was missing. And he did not want to break that strange spell in which you trapped him and gave color and life to the performance he would give.
In truth, he wanted to stay trapped in that comforting and soft warmth of yours for the rest of his life; was that possible?
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