Don't I Know You from Somewhere...? (T-M, language, adult content,etc; Private)

"I show, love. I don't tell." His smirk widened, but the darkening in his gaze carried with it the sincerity of his words. He had cast his bait and now he would wait to see her do with it what she will.

She smirked just as the light dimmed further, signalling the nearing of the end of the follow-up show. This meant that it would be a performance reduction to the standard strip teases and the like, the crowd would thin, the kitchen would be closing, and Crystal would be retiring for the night. The rest of the management, as well as security, could handle the crowd from here on out. And she could escape it. Raising a brow, she sat back, the curve of her spine seeming to add an elegance to it while accentuating the curve of her buttocks as well. "Then show me," she dared, coy as she stepped from the stool and made her way to the long-abandoned dance floor opposite the stage.

The weapon slid from his stool with a graceful ease, sauntering close behind as he followed her to the dance floor. Each step furthered the grin spreading across his face, shoulders rolling to ease the tension from them. He rose to the stage with a mixture of curiosity and cockiness, appreciating the click of his shoes against the polished wood. "Shall we?"

She raised a brow at him, smirking as she slid the coat from her shoulders. Every step was a sashay as she made it the back wall, hanging the coat and toying with the more private sound system for the floor. Her fingers danced across the buttons, selecting from the song list before turning back to him, brow raised.

He strode to the center of the dance floor, step over step, coming to a halt as he rounded on a heel to face her. Cold fire danced in the blue of his eyes as they lingered on her, one hand raising in an invitation for her. Though his gaze remained playful, his lips had set into a thin line, a feature that only showed when he had collapsed his focus into one particular point. "I'm ready when you are," the weapon murmured softly, nodding to his outstretched hand.

She took it simply, eyes on his all the while, a confidence to her that showed just how used to being in control she really was. "I'm ready, hot shot. Let's see what you've got."

Ezra stepped back to one foot, pulling the bar matron to him with ease. One hand slid around her waist, the other shifting to hold her hand steady. Gaze leveled with hers, he slid to one side and another, testing her with every step.

A natural born leader at heart, and assuredly, no one could mistake her for anything less, Rosaline nonetheless matched each movement step for step, following along with a trained grace and ease that seemed almost hardwired into her muscles. Her eyes never once left his own, blinking seeming almost foreign to her all the while.

One after another, Ezra guided her into an increasingly elaborate web of steps and spins. Pressing away, he extended his leading hand entirely before snapping her back to him, arms curling about her like the string of a yo-yo. Leading was an art, setting those who performed it as painters guiding the stroke of a brush. Even so, a brush could be bent out of shape or have a stray bristle throw the stroke into disarray. Rose never faltered. She met his steps with equal precision and grace, reading his lead as soon as the thought formed in his mind. Despite himself, he grinned.

It was the ingenuity and genius of her societal adaptations that had gotten her this far in life --- and had filled up her little black book, for that matter --- and these things were far from apt to abandon her at such a time as this. Watching him, time and time again matching him, she continued, waiting to see if he could trip her up, all the while still nonetheless impressed with his own movements and precision, such things that were far enough along to keep her, noticeably or otherwise, on her toes.

Ezra slid into an extension once more, pulling her as he raised the lead arm, twirling her under as she passed beneath the arch and out the other side. The weapons gave himself to the moment, settling into a sense of serenity, even enjoyment. His hips rocked with each pass of his partner, shoulders rolling as he reeled her in carefully.

Training she'd taken on with her sister had her feet on her toes, the spin causing an easing pain to the muscles of her foot, but she fought it --- for as long as she could. Nearly back into place, she lost footing, one leg sliding out from beneath her. Still, training held, the leg extending out to a perfect line, foot pointing once more, now that the weight and pressure was removed from it. The back of her head now leaned against his hip, she stared up at him, chest moving just slightly more obviously from the workout, eyes dancing even as embarrassment painted her lips and cheeks.

Ezra wasted no time in the recovery, pulling the staggered vixen to her feet. Hands caught hers, pulling her body close as he slid back into a slow sashay. "Improv," he murmured, eyes twinkling in amusement even as his lips curled into a coy grin. "I like it." He brought her back into a steady rhythm, allowing her ample time to bring her mind back into sync with his.

She raised her brows for a moment, smirking as she did so, meeting his motions once more, though generally easing off of the apparently offended foot in question. Still, enjoyment danced in her eyes, a smirk playing at her lips that seemed only to grow with each step.

He placed each step carefully, watching her body move in response to his own. He offered a second hand, taking hers firmly as he extended, swinging out and away before pulling her back. "Do you do lifts?" he inquired quietly, body moving of its own instincts as his mind diverged from its path.

"I usually am the one lifting," Rose responded, thinking back to her practices with her sister, "But I can." Her concentration had remained, chiefly, on the task at hand, though she was still well aware of his presence and body language, as well as the fact that the general tone of the establishment itself had not changed out of the ordinary.

He nodded quietly in return, eyes now restless as they drank in each subtle shift of her body and face alike. Lifts and dips ranked among the more difficult dance variations. Execution of either maneuver required forethought and synchronization from both parties, lest a sudden shift of momentum send them tumbling to the floor. Shoulder muscles began to tense in anticipation as eyes searched for the moment like a predator waiting to strike.

There was something increasingly more thrilling about the moments, something in his gaze and the shift of each movement, each rippling muscle beneath the surfaces of their skins. She made not a sound as she followed where he guided, no hesitation marking her obedience.

Ezra dipped away from her, hands cupped into hers as their arms locked out in extension. Opportunity peered from the corner and the weapon sprang to seize it. He pulled her towards him sharply, elbows tucking to his sides as his hands dropped to lead her downwards. Momentum carried her body beneath him, her legs passing between his. Careful hands found her hips and elbows pushed away from his chest as he propelled the woman upwards, sweeping her into a wide arc above him.

Each movement was met with trained precision, every inch of her body moving in tandem with his own. She balanced herself automatically, as though she had done so time and again, and in fact she had; by now, she assumed that she was out of practice. In this instance, being proven wrong was a satisfaction all it's own. Her eyes trailed down to him as he held her steady, watching, observing, the steady hold of how impressed she was evident on her face.

Leading in a ballroom-style dance was a deceptive task, one that illustrated the fleeting, finicky definition of intelligence. A true lead would move without active thought, acting and adjusting instantaneously to accommodate their partner. This was no exception. Ezra moved not on account of a conscious flow of thought, but on instincts and the firing of synapses that moved limbs without explicit direction. He leaned away from Rose as she fell, draping one arm to his shoulder as he dipped her low, the edges of her shoes grazing the polished wood as he drew her in to him. Straightening himself and her with him, he nodded quietly as a grin spread across his face. "Magnifique."

A grin spread across her face, genuine and impressed, a hint of joy to it that she would mask at the slightest hint of it's existence. Still, she found herself nodding, not moving away from the close proximity, eyes alight as they watched him. "That it was."

"Consider my curiosity sated," Ezra murmured, his brow arched high in direct contrast to the smirk at his lips. "I now know how good you are on your feet. All that's left to wonder is how good you are off of them."

The grin seemed only to lengthen, her eyes dancing further and further with the smell of competition building an undeniable, insatiable high. "That is to be found out, is it not?" Her eyes flitted towards the bar, where all attention was on meal readiness and resupplying the drinks trays going around. "Perhaps, if you're a gambler, you'd take the bet that I'm even better that way." Her eyes met his once more, slow, sultry and coy, punctuated with a wink.

"Betting is better suited for the weak of will and those absent of ambition," he retorted, his hands dropping to her waist as he talked, voice dropping to a sensual murmur. "I make my own odds in life. Admittedly, you seem well worth taking a chance on."