Manipulashipping aka Anzu x Marik.
[ Since you didn't give me a prompt, I just kinda took this and ran with it. :p ]
There were bodies everywhere and the lights were bright. The bass shook the club with repetitive, dance music that had everyone gyrating and grinding to the rhythm. Marik felt overwhelmed. It was sensory overload compared to all the countless years he'd spent underground, knowing only bits and pieces of the outside world. It felt as if the room would swallow him whole, until he felt a hand enclose around his wrist and tug him along.
"Come on! Dance with me!" Anzu's easy smile managed to quell some of his discomfort as he let her lead him to the floor.
He'd never really given much thought to her before. Not that she wasn't a gorgeous woman, but he'd had other things preoccupying his mind back then, keeping him from truly appreciating, well, anyone. It had been strange running into Anzu here. New York, of all places. Though when she told him about how it'd been her dream to dance in New York, he supposed it wasn't all that strange after all.
Anzu is nothing less than impressive. She makes the dancefloor her own; swaying, twirling, losing herself in the music and it's easy to see that its her passion in life. There's nothing distasteful in her movements. She isn't one of those drunk-happy, giggling dolls pressed up against every man they can sink their nails into. She's graceful and sensual, and beautiful and it's the first time Marik actually finds himself stunned. He doesn't move, but stands there awkwardly, letting his eyes appreciate the show for a few moments.
Then she's suddenly in his arms, grounding him back to reality. "You know, when I told you to dance with me, I meant that you actually had to dance," she teases, hands moving over his own to pull them around her hips. "Do you know how?"
"Of course I know how to dance," he sounds offended, but it's only because, in truth, he has absolutely no idea what to do. Of course he's never danced. When would he have had the time between years spent underground carrying on the legacy of tombkeepers well before him and months chasing after an ancient spirit? It's a startling realisation that he only knows how to follow. Not to lead.
"Well then, show me what you got." She obviously doesn't believe him, and he doesn't know if that embarrasses him or pisses him off. Maybe both. Definitely both. "Just let the music guide you. I know that's cheesy, but it works."
Marik doesn't look convinced, but he finds himself closing his eyes all the same, letting the thrum of the music fill his head and wash through him to his fingertips and toes. Eventually he starts to sway, slow and awkward at first and feeling out the music (not unlike a boy attending his first school dance). His hands unconsciously map out the curve of her waist, but she says nothing, only smiles and shimmies a little to the music. Soon enough, he's guiding her around the floor in spins and smooth movements, every so often pressing up against her to feel the hummingbird rhythm of her heartbeat against his own.
Anzu's at home here on the dance floor. He's never seen her look so alive and free, and for the first time since leaving those underground tunnels he'd called home, he feels that freedom, too.
