Disclaimer: Not mine, Alliance's. Not making money, please don't sue me.

No spoilers, no relation to episodes, and no plot.

Not beta'd at all, so any mistakes are all mine, dammit! <g>

Feedback is worshiped at bluecast@yahoo.com

Rating: PG at worst, not even a hint of slash.

Sweet Rhythm
by Tara Blue

He could feel them, the heavy bass chords throbbing in the background of the song. They vibrated up through floorboards exposed by a rolled back rug, into the bare soles of his pounding feet, giving rhythm to steps. They wrapped around his narrow, jean clad hips, cradling them, guiding them into a series of snap, grind, snap. They seeped into the bones of his arms, pulling them into wild undulations that flew away, then back into his body, then even closer still until he was momentarily wrapped in an embrace from his own limbs before flying away again. Finally, the beat settled into his chest, drawing his heart into beat, now in unison, now slipping into a counter beat, and now slipping back again.

He could feel the sweet, seductive call of each pulse, humming to him through his body, through his bones. In a siren's song, it urged him to forget . . . everything.

Gladly, he did just that, allowing the sweet, driving rhythm to drive each heavy thought and worry that had weighed down his mind and bowed his shoulders. Throwing his arms wide, he let go of the last of self and granted the music entrance to the body left behind.

Harder his feet pounded, more violently his hips snapped. He could feel slow drops of salty sweat making their way down the planes of his face and neck until being absorbed by the collar of his shirt. The weight of the damp fabric was suddenly too restrictive, and he pulled it up and off, casting it aside without thought as to where it landed.

Now bare chested as well as barefoot, he flung himself totally into the primal movements the music wrung from his long limbs. He savoured the feel of the slightly cool air pressing against his flushed skin, the ribbons of sweat now trickling unhindered down his back and lean flanks.

This . . . this was his nirvana. No thought, no worry, just basic existence and music entwined as close as lovers.

He tossed his head, a shaft of warm sunlight catching the short, dark blond spikes of hair and gilding it into a halo around his bliss filled face. The subtle, caressing heat of the sun drew him almost as much as the music had, and he slid into the puddle it was making just inside the window without ever pausing his writhing to the music.

Sudden silence brought him back to himself momentarily, leaving him frozen and dead still, like a rabbit caught in the head lights of a fast advancing truck. The dreary thoughts of the day tried to make their insidious way back into his brain, but the onset of the next song staved them off.

Again, he allowed the music to wrap around him, and in him, and through him, until there was nothing but the music and the beat and his body. The rhythm was slightly different. The driving throbbing beat was still present, but now it had a slutty, sultry feel to it that led him in an entirely new set of steps. The snapping hips were eased into slow undulations, the wildly flailing arms were smoothed into his body, sliding over and around his torso in languid caresses. No more did his feet pound, but instead braced solidly to support the writhing of the rest of his body.

He allowed the sunlight to stroke against his skin, and where the kiss of the light went, he followed with his own hands. Alone in his apartment, feeling safe in his isolation, he allowed himself liberties with his own body that would never be allowed in public.

The long fingers went first into his hair, tugging the moussed spikes until they softened and became tousled enough to stand up on their own. Dragging the fingers down over his sweat-damp face, he ground the heels of his palms into his eye sockets until the darkness behind his eyelids was filled with lights and sparks, then he abruptly slid the hands away and opened his eyes. When the darkness faded from his vision, the contrast of the honey coloured light caused the whole world seem golden and warm.

Down over his neck, exposed in a long arch by the tossed back head, over his shoulders, down to his upper arms in a lonely kind of hug. Across the chest, long fingers leaving long lines in the sheen of moisture clinging to the lank frame, dipping to the waistband, sliding down over the angles of his hipbones, then doubling back to his chest.

The dance was far more sensuous than anything he'd allow himself outside of the confines of his apartment. His defences were stripped away, leaving his pale pink insides vulnerably exposed to the world, should the world care to take a look. It was too dangerous, too risky to allow anyone a glimpse of this most inner part of himself.

But the world couldn't see past the closed doors of his apartment, bolted, locked, and barred against intrusions. This was his haven, the only safe place to retreat to when the lies and mind games became too much for him. And today, they had. Not for the first time, the lie he had chosen to live, the lie he was now chafing under had become more than he could handle. He had begun to sink into despair. But, no - he wouldn't think about that, not until the music stopped. He wouldn't think about anything until the music stopped.

On and on he danced, to song after song, until the CD had played itself out, and so had half of the one after it. It wasn't until the end of the second CD that he finally gave in to the tired quiver invading his limbs and collapsed onto the feminine love seat that looked so out of place in the center of his rather masculine apartment.

He sighed and leaned back, dropping the head that was suddenly too heavy for the slender neck to hold it up. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as the heavy thoughts that had propelled him to seek that state of non-thinking he reached when dancing crashed back, as harsh and unpleasant as ever.

Ray Kowalski slumped back against the cushioned seat back, grabbing the remote to the stereo and savagely thumbing the power button.

It was time to return to the real world.


End.