Night out (WIP?)

It was rather loud, she decided.

Not to say that it was completely unpleasant, but Dorsetshire had only been to a club once before and the experience had been a dismal affair. Not particularly terrible by any means, but hardly as exciting as some of the other girls made out–sit at a bar listening to music thump so loudly it shook your bones ordering drink after drink while every so often a half-drunk man would wander over and try to chat you up.

That said, the last time, she had gone on her own.

An arm suddenly wrapped around her waist and she jumped. Instantly, she spun around to give the offending body a firm, decisive slap–naturally sans her cruiser strength, she didn’t want to kill the unfortunate bugger.

She stopped when she came face to face with her partner, who was grinning like an idiot.

“Hey there little lady,” he said, putting on a husky, suave voice for her. His eyes were concealed behind a pair of thick-rimmed sunglasses and he tilted them forward to expose his bright green eyes to her. “You coming my way at all?”

Dorsetshire felt her face flush even as she started to titter at the sound of Ian’s voice. He was such a goof.

“You know I am,” she responded once she was certain she could answer with a steady voice. Ian must have noticed as his grin only widened, and he leaned in close to peck her on her cherry red lips. Dorsetshire drew back, suddenly bashful. She’d never been entirely comfortable with public displays of affection, though she knew it was silly of her.

“What do you think of it so far, then?” he asked, somehow making himself heard over the din of the music.

“I feel like a common harlot,” Dorsetshire replied, but she had to repeat herself and raise her voice an octave a few times before she made her message known. Ian simply threw back his head and laughed.

“Dorse, this is how people dressed when they wanted to hit the town back then. Besides, I gave you the option to say ‘no’.”

Dorsetshire stood decked out in clothes that were, to her mind, far too revealing for a young woman in general, never mind one of the prestigious Royal Navy. She was certain that, should any of the girls from the base spot her, they would fail to recognise her, which was good because she didn’t particularly want to be singled out.

On the other hand, she had no idea she would have to show so much of herself. To complete strangers, no less! She felt dirtied each time a man’s eyes drifted her way.

She stood at the bar wearing a pair of pure white knee-high buffalo boots with a scandalously short black leather skirt and a crimson backless halter top that shamelessly showed off her abdomen, while a deep blue satin crochet poncho ‘covered’ her shoulders. Her blazing red hair was tied into a modest bun, and her signature bangs trailed down the side of her head to frame her face like a perfect portrait. Her use of makeup was strictly limited to a deep scarlet lipstick which painted her full lips in a tantalising shade of red that she knew drove Ian wild. Ian, conversely, and despite the fact that this was a 90’s dress up night, more closely resembled the protagonist of Saturday Night Fever, with his blinding white jacket and trousers and loosely buttoned polka-dot shirt, not to mention those positively awful, dorky shades he had perched on the bridge of his nose.

She would be lying if she said that he didn’t look a little ravishing, though.

“You look fantastic,” Ian soothed, taking hold of her and gently pulling her close to him. She took a breath, inhaling his presence like a drug. He always managed to smell so… clean. Somehow. She couldn’t understand how he managed it when she positively reeked after a sortie. It wasn’t fair.

“I’m overexposed,” Dorsetshire grumped, but it was half-hearted, as any protests usually were once Ian complimented her appearance.
“You’re fine. Really,” he grinned at her, cupping her face in both hands, “and just to prove it, I’m going to spend all night with you.”

“You’d do that anyway,” she told him, but she was smiling when she did.

“And I’d do it again, and again, and again,” he told her with a boyish grin and another chaste kiss. Then he took hold of her hand and dragged her away from the bar and onto the dance floor. “Come on; let’s try to have fun for once.”

She shot him an indignant look. “Are you insinuating that I don’t know how to have fun?”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Ian shouted over the music, which was beginning to quieten as the next track in the playlist was cycled through. “I couldn’t hear you over all this fun I’m having!”

Dorsetshire gaped at him as Ian gyrated and bopped and slid in time with the music. He was absurdly talented in the strangest ways, and the cruiser girl shook her head in exasperation before taking Ian’s outstretched hand and letting him lead the dance, which didn’t last long before the music finally died. The crowd began to boo and hiss and clamour for fresh entertainment. The DJ shrugged his shoulder apologetically, which lasted all of a second before a Cheshire grin split his face and he tapped on his display. Immediately the tunes began to play, much to the approval of the mob.

Dorsetshire felt Ian stiffen as the music filled the space. Bodies clashed and spun and jived and moved. It was a testament to life, and though it was far from elegant, Dorsetshire found herself curiously taken by it. Even in the face of defeat after defeat at the hands of the enemy at sea, people found a way to get on by.

“Dorse!” Ian shouted excitedly.

“What?”

“I love this song!”

It wasn’t one she recognised, but she was entirely out of touch, as one might say, with the music scene. This, however, did not stop her from trying to match her partner’s movements as he positively exploded into action. He took her hand and spun her gently on her feet, taking hold of her from behind as he swayed in time with the music.

“Ooh I want you, I don’t know if I need you but ooh I’d die to find out.” Ian sung along, his hands gliding along Dorsetshire’s flanks before resting them on her hips, guiding her closer to his body until they were pressed against one another. Even now, some months since this whole thing started, she couldn’t help but marvel at how well she seemed to fit next to him, like she was a piece of a puzzle she hadn’t realised even existed.

He pressed his face against the back of her head, feeling his warm breath ruffle her hair and tickle her scalp. After a moment, he shifted; resting his head in the crook of her neck and Dorsetshire felt the intimately familiar sensation of him trailing kisses along her nape. She hummed before abruptly pulling away and facing her lover, who appeared most curious as to the sudden movement. She reached out and grabbed his hand.

“Let’s get out of here,” she suggested.

Ian blinked. “But we’ve only been here about half an hour…”

Dorsetshire batted her eyelashes at him and bent over a fraction, giving Ian a modest idea of what lay underneath her scandalously skimpy clothing. “Let’s get out of here,” she repeated with a coquettish smile. One of Ian’s eyebrows arched so high that the shipgirl thought it might fall off his face.

“All right,” he said with a simple nod and a dopey grin. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I thought you’d see it my way,” Dorsetshire mused slyly, taking his hand and leading him towards the entrance and out into the night.