Fifth Position

A/N: I'm surprised I need to say this, but this won't make sense unless you read the previous four parts first! Also, this is kind of a slow burn if you want to get to the good stuff, so you'll need a bit of patience.

For a while, everything hurts. I avoid class for a couple of weeks, delaying the inevitable. When I do return my poise is non-existent, and my body feels like lead. I know she won't be there, but her absence still cuts deeper than I could've imagined.

The burn in my chest hurts worse than any criticism the Master throws my way in the following few lessons.

"Assemblé... Mia! I said Assemblé!"

"Andouille. It took you long enough...."

The other dancers whisper amongst themselves. I don't bother to listen.

With time the weight begins to lift. The pain is more of a dull ache, and I can dance again. My body is more in tune with itself than ever, and after weeks of criticism I'm no longer afraid of failing. When I step into the studio, the rest of the world falls away as the music swells and flows through me. I barely hear the Master's praise. I'm no longer dancing for anyone else - this is just for me.

I'd forgotten all about the number she left for me.

Uncovering it brings back our last moments together in all their searing glory. I resist the urge to press the paper to my nose and inhale any of her lingering scent, then throw it back where I found it and try to steady my breathing.

I try to ignore the persistent curiosity about why she would leave it for me. Or more specifically, who might answer if I were to call. One morning, before I can overthink it, I dial the number with trembling fingers.

A male voice answers. Of course it's not her. Then sadness is replaced by shame when the man introduces himself as a therapist. A therapist. Like I'm some kind of broken doll, and this is her way of easing her guilt now she's done playing with me.

I try to make my excuses, battling against my need to be polite. "I'm sorry, there's been a misunderstanding. A friend gave me this number, but-."

His tone is more gentle the next time he speaks. "Mia? I've been expecting you. Natasha said you might call. She-"

"It doesn't matter what she told you, because I still can't afford this."

"There's no charge - this is a favour for a friend."

"I don't care-"

He cuts me off firmly this time. "One conversation. If you want to walk away at the end of it then that's ok. I've been keeping some time free for you. Do you have a pen to hand?"

After, as I wrestle with the mess of emotions, I first curse my inability to say no. Then I try to feel furious about how patronising it is to decide a therapist was necessary without even speaking to me first... Finally, I accept that attending is inevitable, because I'd do anything if it meant feeling any kind of connection to Natasha again.

In a turn of events that isn't at all surprising in hindsight, it doesn't end up being one conversation. Weeks turn into months, and therapy is more painful, cathartic and worthwhile than I could have possibly imagined.

My therapist is bearded and handsome, a couple of decades older than I am. After a few sessions I also recognise him as a dominant. I'm ashamed to say that at one point I end up convincing myself that I'm in love with him. At the end of a session, I bite the bullet and ask him if he'd further my education by taking me on as his submissive.

After the longest, most awkward pause known to man, he clears his throat and looks at me with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.

"Have you learned nothing about boundaries in these sessions, Mia? I thought we were making progress?"

Looking at literally anywhere but him, I bite my lip and begin gathering my things. I usually appreciate his humour, but, today, it makes the humiliation burn worse. He can read me like a book, however, and changes his approach.

"Mia, we need to address this appropriately. Now please, sit down."

I can't ignore the authority in his tone, so I slump back down opposite him. I want to resent him; but, deep down, I appreciate that he won't let me avoid things.

"I was very clear on my role as your therapist, was I not?" His tone is gentle, with just a hint of his usual humour.

"Yes, I understand... I understand how it would be completely inappropriate and unethical. But, as you hadn't been charging me, I thought maybe what you got out of this was..."

When I sneak a look at him, his face is a mixture of horror and exasperation. I've never seen him flustered, and if I wasn't so embarrassed I'd probably have found it funny.

"But that would mean that I was grooming you... do you really think that would be acceptable behaviour from me? Do you believe you deserve a therapist or a dominant who would manipulate you like that?"

I shake my head, my eyes glued back to the floor.

"Mia, please don't blame yourself. I made the assumption you had enough information about why I want to help you. It was my responsibility to ensure that boundary was firmly established, especially when I know how common it is for clients to develop feelings for their therapists."

"Is it common?" The shame lifts a little, but I still can't bring myself to look up.

"You aren't even my first client that I've had this conversation with. We talk about very personal things; if some wires become crossed it's easy for me to end up representing what you want from a partner. Does that make sense?"

"Oh... yes. Sort of."

"And, aside from the fact that I am your therapist, even if I wasn't, I don't have any submissives."

He sighs heavily, and when I chance a look at him, he looks years older and his sadness is palpable.

"A long time ago I was in a position of power, but not what a true dominant should be. I was not a good man, and I caused an unimaginable amount of hurt. I can never take back what I did, and I can never make up for it. So, alongside my regular clients, I offer free therapy to submissives to try and ensure they are never preyed on by someone like the man I was."

I understand the weight of shame, so when his eyes meet mine there's nothing but compassion to greet them.

"Thank you, I understand. So... did she know about your past? Or just that you would be willing to help me?" He knows I still can't say her name, although we're trying to work on it.

"Natasha?" I nod, and he ignores my wince of pain at hearing her name out loud.

"Both, but she isn't actively in my life. Had she been, I wouldn't have taken you on as it wouldn't have been appropriate. But I want to reassure you again that I would never tell her that you're even a client, let alone what we talk about."

I nod, and the tension leaves the air. "So, same time next week then?"

He looks at me thoughtfully; there's a hint of something in his eyes that I don't recognise before the familiar glint of humour returns.

"Whilst I don't want you to forget that propositioning me was wildly inappropriate, I'm flattered you think an old man like me could keep up with you."

I snort, buttoning my jacket to hide my blush. "Sorry, it was my mistake for thinking you could. I hadn't considered that whipping could be a health hazard for the elderly." No sooner are the words out of my mouth do I wish I could take them back. My skin heats up by about ninety degrees.

"In another life, had I been your Dominant, you wouldn't have dared speak to me like that."

He looks amused, and somewhat wistful, whilst I'm tongue-tied and blushing from head to toe. He shakes his head wearily.

"Same time next week, and for both of our sakes let's consider this matter dealt with."

I mumble my agreement and slip out the door before I can embarrass myself any further. I've never been so glad to skip down the stairs and escape into the fresh air.

For a long time now, I've been the star student of our class. I never thought I'd find a silver lining to the hole Natasha left, but life is full of surprises, and it keeps on throwing me through a loop.

It starts off as a normal Friday. I'm running late for class, so I'm last in to change. I squeeze into my usual spot, chirping my usual greetings to everyone, and I'm halfway through changing before I realise that the chatter that usually fills the room is suspiciously absent.

A familiar, heady scent catches my attention and affects my traitorous body in ways in which it shouldn't after all this time. Just like that, she's here again; like nothing happened, like no time has passed, like she didn't walk away and leave my heart shattered into tiny pieces. I don't look - I can't - and I pray that she doesn't speak because I don't think my heart could take it.

I can feel her eyes on me throughout the class, and I like to think they're appraising as I soar through the session. Somehow I manage to make it through without a single encounter, not even a hint of eye contact... until I'm outside after class and trying to call a taxi. It's raining hard, and we're soaked almost as soon as we've stepped out.

I can smell her before I see her - scent really is the most powerful memory trigger. I don't want to look. She gently tugs at my arm.

"Let's talk. Come on."

I spin around and try to hold on to the flare of anger that I feel when I look into her frustratingly, beautiful, perfect face for the first time in forever.

"It took just a few weeks to get me completely hooked on you. Then you were gone, and it took forever for me to be even slightly okay. And now you're trying to call the shots again like nothing ever happened, acting like everything is fine-"

"Mia, do I look fine to you? I've watched you flourish whilst I fell apart."

I look at her properly for the first time, and I can see she's telling the truth. She's still so beautiful, but she looks exhausted, and like she's lost too much weight. Her intensity is there but so much dimmer than before.

I grab her hands, suddenly afraid. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

She chuckles, the sound stirring something in me I desperately try to ignore. "Maybe, in my head? I went home for a while, and it wasn't a happy experience. And I don't think I've slept properly since the last time you were next to me."

Her vulnerability catches me off guard. When she tugs my hand and motions for me to follow I have to go with her. Her front door and the staircase feel both foreign and familiar, and once we're seated I try not to think about the last time I was here.

I don't realise my teeth are chattering until she tugs gently at my soaking jacket.

"You're freezing. Let's warm you up."

"If this is just an excuse to take my clothes off-"

She rolls her eyes. "Or maybe I just want to talk to you, and I want you to be comfortable?"

She's only satisfied once the fire is lit and I'm wrapped in a thick blanket. I've changed into a long-sleeved, soft shirt that smells like her and it's taking all of my willpower not to inhale when she sets a steaming mug of tea in front of me.

She has changed too but she's still shivering, so I open the blanket and make space for her next to me. I expect her to resist, but she comes so willingly it makes my heart ache.

We sit side by side, stiff at first, trying to navigate this new territory. She still feels cold, so eventually I gently steer us until she's lying down and I wrap myself around her, tucking the blanket over us and resting my head on her shoulder.

She breathes a little contented sigh, and if I wasn't so worried, I'd be angry with her about how easy and perfect this is. I want to shake her, demand answers, ask her why we couldn't have just done this before?

Her heart is pounding under my hand. "I know I said I wanted to talk, but, now that you're here, it's so much harder..." I'm used to her leading, and her uncertainty pains me.

I move closer, pressing my face into her neck. We both stiffen at the contact, and I try to ignore the warmth that pulses under my skin. "It's ok, take your time. I'm not going anywhere."

She gives a dry little sob, and I'd take all the pain of the last year again so she didn't have to hurt. "I know you aren't, Mia. Somehow you're still here, after I broke us both just because I was scared. I don't deserve you."

"You do. You deserve to be happy, and so do I. But I can only try if I know you won't run again."

She turns to face me, our lips just inches apart and her fingers softly brushing the hair away from my cheek. "Never. Never again. But I also don't want to rush this. I want to take it slow and give us both the relationship we deserve."

I barely get the chance to agree before she closes the gap between our lips and kisses me softly and sweetly. I expect her to stop me when I pull her closer, deepening the kiss, but she matches my need, devouring my lips hungrily until we're both gasping for breath.

She rests her forehead against mine. "You aren't going to feel rejected if I stop things from going too far, are you?"

"Maybe before, but not now."

A few soft and lazy kisses later she pulls away again, her eyes soft and proud. "You decided to go to therapy, didn't you? I'm assuming you decided to stick with him?"

I nod, basking in her approval. "So... I know he wouldn't tell you anything even if you asked. How did you know I was flourishing?"

Her mouth twists into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I was never really gone, I just knew you'd stay away because I'd told you to. You couldn't bear to disobey, however much it hurt you. I switched classes to a different day, but I'd find excuses to walk by the studio just before class would be starting or ending. I couldn't cut myself off from you completely."

"But I wasn't okay... I just had to find a way to carry on. When I wasn't coping..."

She presses a finger to my lips. "I know. I saw. I can't forget. And I promise I will never hurt you like that again."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first few weeks after our reunion are a mix of bliss and anxiety. To her credit, Natasha is so sweet, patient and attentive that I eventually realise that this time really is different. She has no intention of pulling away from me again.

We take things slow, as we both agreed, although this proves to be far easier said than done. We try to date more traditionally to begin with, but neither of us are traditional women. Our dates begin to reflect our inner desires, which adds another layer of torture to taking things slow.

One night we attend a burlesque show that I've waited months to see. A dancer, curvy and sensual, seems to have all of Natasha's attention.

I nudge her with my elbow. "You arrived with me, remember? Am I going to end up leaving by myself?"

She chuckles and the look in her eyes is... devilish. "I was just thinking that you could definitely do better. In private. For me."

She rests her fingers against my cheek, feeling the blush spreading under my skin. We've faced plenty of temptation before now, from physically having to pry ourselves apart after getting too heated during a movie... Or saying goodbye... Or basically any time we're alone together.

However, the only mention of anything more was when we both agreed that it was completely off the table until we were both ready. I have been for a while now, but I know Natasha is healing and learning to trust herself again. That felt worth waiting for, even if I am falling asleep every night thinking about all the different ways I wish she'd torture me.

Realising she might take my silence for reluctance, I dip my eyes in an obvious act of submission. "Ma'am only has to ask. You know I'll do anything to please you."

Her fingers are still on my cheek, and she's so quiet I'm scared I've pushed too hard. When she dips her fingers under my chin and forces me to look at her, her eyes are dark and hungry, and my body burns with hot desire and relief.

"Are you sure you're ready, Mia? You're not rushing because you want to make me happy?"

"Yes. Pleeeease." I didn't mean for it to come out so whiny, but from the way she smirks, and how her fingers tighten around my chin, it was probably the right response. "I mean, yes. I'm ready. I have been for a little while, but I didn't mind waiting until you were. So yes, please, let's talk about it."

Her smile is dazzling, and her fingers brush against my lips after she releases my chin. "Ok, but not now. After class on Friday."

"Can I at least sit on your lap?"

She pretends to think about it, like I haven't crept up there to snuggle with her fifty times before now. "I guess... you were distracting me anyway, so a little more can't hurt."

I slip out of my seat and onto her lap. "I was distracting you? You mean you were ogling the dancers and I called you out on it."

Her arms snake around my waist and pull me closer. Her breath is hot against my skin as she presses a few soft kisses against my neck, working her way up to behind my ear. I can't stop myself from grinding into her lap when she nips my earlobe gently.

"I told you I was picturing you up there. All of these girls are boring. I'd much rather watch you. Now, pay attention to your show." The shift in our dynamic is palpable and delicious.

I try to watch the rest of the show, but I'm far too distracted. One of her hands, innocently placed around my waist, finds its way to my thigh. Scarlet nails rake up my bare skin, and soft fingers smooth their way back down. She laces the fingers of her other hand with mine, but soon they're tracing teasing patterns on the back of my hand and down to my palm.

Every now and again her lips brush against my neck, or her tongue teases my ear. I can't keep still, and by the end of the show I'm a sweaty, wriggly mess and dying to escape her lap. We have four long nights until there's even a chance she might actually touch me; but that also means I have four more nights where I can touch myself whilst I fantasise about all the different ways she might take me apart.

As the lights come up, she tightens her grip around me, pinning me to her lap. She sucks my earlobe gently, then laughs as I melt into her. "You know why I love these little dresses of yours, Mia?"

"Because you think I'm cute, and my ass looks amazing?"

"Of course. But also because they're flimsy. Whenever you wear cotton you soak right through it, and I can feel what a needy little mess you are."

I try to turn around to see if she's serious, but she holds me in place, sucking and biting my neck. "You're exaggerating, it's not that bad."

I feel her smiling against my skin. "Would I lie to you? You're always too distracted to notice. Why don't you see for yourself?"

The room has almost emptied, so there's no one around to see me slip my hand between my thighs. Sure enough, a huge wet patch has soaked through my underwear onto my dress. I've barely got my hand free before she's grabbed my wrist and raised it to her mouth so she can suck my fingers clean. My brain short-circuits at the feeling of her hot, wet mouth against my skin.

When she's released my fingers, she purrs contentedly against my ear. "See? And what a delicious mess you are. I don't think it would be too unreasonable to ask you not to touch yourself until Friday? I want you to be so needy you beg for it. Don't think about trying to cheat though, Mia, I always know. You've been far too satisfied on our dates recently."

Always two steps ahead of me. I love her; I love her so much. But I can't tell her, because I'm still afraid she'll run. So, I turn around and kiss her instead, biting her lip and grinding hard on her thighs, until I can feel her trembling with need. "So, Friday then?" My tone is innocent, although it takes every fibre of my being to pull away from her.