Fire Burning (On the Dance Floor)
Chapter 3: Push Me Harder
Chapter 1, Chapter 2
genre: angst, a little smut
word count: 2.2k
pairing: lisa x reader
A/N: ...oop
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You were early again. Mostly because that’s who you are as a person, but also because the nerves kept you up all night. Instead of harboring all that anxious energy and waiting around in your apartment, you left early for the studio.
The room was still silent, shadows clinging to the corners of the room. You rolled your shoulders, trying to loosen the knot of tension that had been sitting between your shoulder blades since yesterday’s kiss—since you ran out of this exact room like a coward.
You could barely make eye contact with the spot you had Lisa pinned against the floor for fear it might swallow you whole. And what’s worse is that you kind of wish it would.
You weren’t sure what to expect from either of you when she walked through that door. Guilt? Avoidance? Who knows, maybe she wouldn’t show up at all.
But Lisa didn’t avoid anything. That wasn’t her style.
The door creaked open right on time, and there she was—ponytail high, sweats slung low on her hips, water bottle in hand like her whole presence didn’t flip your entire world on its head.
She gave you a once-over and a lazy, arrogant smirk. “Morning.”
“Morning.” you muttered, eyes already on the stereo, fingers twitching. You could feel her eyes practically burning holes into you as you did so.
“Sleep well?” she asked lightly, like she didn’t already know the answer. You didn’t respond.
The music kicked on. The routine was familiar now—should’ve felt like muscle memory at this point—but you were off from the start. And Lisa noticed, because of course she did. She would do anything if it meant unraveling you piece-by-piece.
“That’s not the tempo,” she said, stopping mid-move as she tried to follow your instruction.
You tried again.
“That’s not the right placement.”
You snapped your head toward her. “Then show me.”
She grinned, that same arrogant smirk from earlier. Giving you a look that made you feel like a fish out of water. Like you had no idea what you were doing.
She showed you—too close, too deliberate, slow enough to make your skin prickle as she ran through the section with a smug ease. She wasn’t correcting you to help. She was provoking you. Again. You knew what she was doing and vowed to stop falling for whatever she was trying to accomplish.
You clenched your jaw and nodded. “Okay. From the top.”
But every pass-through, every beat, she found something to tweak. It didn’t help that your brain was already a mess from the day before when Lisa's hands ghosted over your arms, your hips, your shoulders—adjusting things that didn’t need adjusting. Everything was jumbled up and you couldn’t keep your moves straight, couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, and now you felt like you were on fire wherever Lisa put her hands. It wasn’t fair.
“Relax here,” she murmured once, hand brushing your lower back. “Let your body follow the music.”
You were so caught up in your own thoughts you started to wonder when this lesson turned into her instructing you instead of the other way around. The more you thought about it, the more angry you became, insulted slightly by the way Lisa was speaking to you, but also frustrated from not addressing the kiss. Granted, it was you that wanted to shrug it off in the first place, but still.
Your voice came out sharp. “I know how to dance, Lisa.”
She just smiled, took a step towards you. “Do you?”
That smug little shit.
The next time she threw in an ad-lib move without warning—a hip roll that wasn’t in your choreo—you stopped the music dead.
“What the fuck is your problem?” you said, louder than you meant. You were slightly shocked at the sound of your own voice, but not backing down now.
Lisa turned toward you, wide-eyed but not surprised. She paused for a second, thinking about her next move.
“I’m just trying to make the dance feel…real.”
You crossed the space between you before you realized you were even moving, making sure not to full-on tackle Lisa this time, but still getting in her face.
“You’re trying to piss me off.”
She let out a laugh. Right there in the middle of the studio while you were about to…well, you’re not really sure what you were about to do, but the way she chuckled made you want to figure it out. You wanted to slap her. You wanted to kiss her. You were confused.
She backed up slowly, step by step, until her spine met the mirror at the front of the room. Her eyes sparkled, like she was getting exactly what she wanted.
“And it’s working.”
Your pulse was thunder in your ears. The restraint you’d been clinging to all day finally snapped. You pressed her into the mirror, your forearm against the glass beside her head, bodies flush.
“Why are you playing with me?” You asked, now so close to her that it came out as barely a whisper. Something stirred in you, a heat was rising at your sudden closeness again, and you remembered again how the kiss felt, how part of you wished you didn’t run out of the room yesterday.
You glanced down to her lips for a split second, and Lisa noticed. She always noticed you. She was always watching you, observing your ticks, trying to figure out what would make that perfect professional persona of you finally splinter.
“I’m not playing,” she whispered, even quieter than you. “I want you to do something about it.”
And finally, you did.
You kissed her like you meant to bruise. Your hands found her hips, dragging her against you as her mouth opened under yours, hungry and breathless and reckless. Her hands fisted the back of your shirt, pulling you impossibly closer. As you moved together, she let out the smallest sound into your mouth, and if you weren’t already shattered, that for sure did it.
You broke the kiss only to spin her around, pressing her front-first against the mirror with a growl that vibrated against her skin. You gripped her wrists, pinning them behind her back.
“Still want to challenge me?” you breathed low into her ear from behind, voice low, dangerous. You ducked your head down only to nip at her neck, listening to the whimpers she let out every time your lips skimmed across the heated skin there. You didn’t really care what she was going to say back to you, your mind was made up.
She gasped out a breath that turned into a laugh, even as her thighs pressed together. You caught the action, cueing you into the fact that she was more affected by this interaction than she would ever let through the smugness. Like you, she wasn’t one to back down from a challenge.
“Maybe.”
Your hands slid under her tank top, across her burning skin, and she arched for you, already panting. The mirror was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to your mouth on her neck, your grip tightening, claiming. You could feel the tension in the air from the day uncoiling slowly as you let desire take over. But you couldn’t think about that right now. Your brain was basically mush.
Every movement between you was messy, urgent, like you were both trying to erase the space that had ever existed between your bodies. Your hand moved slowly, slowly, down her stomach and past her waistband. Her voice broke into a moan when you finally dipped your hand between her thighs, finding her impossibly wet.
“Fuck,” you breathed out against her neck, for the first time letting your resolve slip a little.
But you also didn’t want to think that you turned her on like that, you just figured Lisa had some kind of power kink she was getting off on. Torturing you until you finally fucked her.
And when you finally dipped your fingers into her—not gentle in the least—the sound she made was obscene enough to make you feel like if you were to die in this moment, even with all the turmoil of the last few weeks, you would die happy.
You fucked her against the mirror until her reflection was a blur of sweat and smeared lip gloss—one hand in her sweats, and the other holding her wrists at her lower back as she arched back into you, grinding at every thrust.
“Fuck, Y/N, Fuck,” she panted out after every stroke. “Harder.”
You didn’t know what was happening, but for the first time, you couldn’t ignore her command, fucking into her harder and spilling absolute filth into her ear from behind. It was her undoing.
You held her up as she came—legs shaking and knees buckling. When it was all done—when she finally slumped against you, breathless and wrecked, loose hairs flying out of her ponytail and eyeliner smudged just slightly—she turned her head just enough to look at you through heavy-lidded eyes.
“Fuck Y/N,” she said, still catching her breath. “That took longer than I thought it would.”
You stared at her, finally pulling your hands back and stepping away from the mirror. Not much, but putting just enough space between you so that you didn’t do whatever you had just done…again. Her freshly fucked look made it hard to resist the urge. The mirror was still fogged, your breath was ragged, Lisa was still leaning against the glass as she looked at you.
And you…you felt like your soul had just left your body. You couldn’t meet her eyes in the mirror, could barely stand to look at yourself. How did you let her push you this far?
What the fuck just happened?
Lisa turned around slowly, and with her skin flushed, lips red, hair a mess, she looked even more beautiful than before, if that was even possible. But her face looked smug. She looked pleased with herself. You rolled your eyes. You wanted to be sick. It was like you had an angel and a devil on your shoulder, and you weren’t sure which to listen to.
Lisa kept talking, although you wished she would stop. You wished everything would just stop.
“So,” she said, still a little breathless, “was that your way of saying you forgive me for being annoying?”
You didn’t answer, instead you just bent down to grab your bag off the floor, swallowing the heat rising in your throat that had nothing to do with desire.
“Y/N?” Lisa asked, her voice dipping a little.
You erred on the side of professionalism, even though what just happened was far from it. You didn’t make eye contact as you spoke, focusing too hard on your bag and packing your things as quickly as you could.
“That shouldn’t have happened.”
You felt her freeze, even without seeing it. “Seriously?”
“That was a mistake,” you said, voice low. “I crossed a line.”
Sure, the kiss was now just a minor transgression compared to what transpired just moments ago. If you were worried about your job yesterday, you were actually panicking today.
Lisa scoffed softly, crossing her arms. “Pretty sure I helped you cross it.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
Silence pulsed between you. Heavy. Sharp.
“You think I didn’t want that?” she asked after a beat, something quieter in her tone now. The most serious you’ve ever heard her since you’ve known her.
You finally looked at her, and the look on her face nearly unraveled you. She looked…surprised. Maybe a little hurt. But she covered it fast, keeping her arms crossed and smirking again like none of it mattered.
“I mean, you didn’t exactly hold me at gunpoint, Y/N. You kissed me. I let you. You fucked me—hard. I let you. You don’t get to call it a mistake just because you’re scared of what it means now.”
“I’m not scared,” you lied instantly, your voice raising three octaves giving away the lie.
She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you’re packing your shit like I just blackmailed you.”
You hated how right she was. How she spent all this time figuring you out, and unraveling you in a matter of hours. You hated how good she was at reading you. She knew all of your cards, at all times, and you felt helpless in that moment.
What were you supposed to do? You were her choreographer. You were supposed to be professional. This wasn’t just about lust—this could cost you your reputation. Your job. Maybe your entire career.
You looked away again. “I need some air.”
Lisa took a step forward, reaching out like she might grab you, but thinking better of it and stopping halfway. “Y/N…”
You shook your head. “Dont, not right now.”
She hesitated, and you could feel the tension again. This time laced with something that wasn’t quite anger. Not quite disappointment either. Just…fragility. Like if either of you said the wrong thing it would all shatter. Well, it would all shatter more than it had already shattered, if that were even possible.
“Fine,” she said finally. “Go breathe. Just don’t pretend like you didn’t want this. I might push your buttons, but I’m not stupid.”
You stopped at the door, hand on the handle. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drumbeat you couldn’t keep time with.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said without turning around.
Lisa’s voice was flat. “Can’t wait.”
You stepped into the hallway and closed the door gently behind you.
And then you leaned back against it, let your head fall back, and finally let the guilt, the panic, and the confusing throb of desire all wash over you. You had no idea what tomorrow was going to look like.
But you knew one thing: you couldn’t stay in this push-pull game with Lisa without falling apart completely.
