Rhythm

"Heading out for a smoke. You doing OK? Not going to forget how to breathe because you saw a pretty girl?"

"Hm? Yeah, see you in a minute, then."

It took a couple of seconds of Jack pointing his best shit-eating grin up at me for the last sentence to register.

"First of all, fuck you; and in my defence she's very pretty."

"I'll buy you a drink if you've talked to her by the time I get back."

"You do realise that's just going to make me stay here to spite you? You're the worst wingman."

"Guilty as charged," Jack shot back as he disappeared outside, already pulling his lighter out of one pocket. I smiled fondly at his retreating back, and-

OK, I smiled fondly because of him, without actually looking away from the girl on the dancefloor.

She threw her head back, messy blonde hair parting to unleash the carefree grin that had caught my attention in the first place. Slender arms darted from side to side as her shoulders kept time; long legs in black denim beat syncopated rhythms on the floor; and as the song ended, she laughed, and gulped hungry breaths, and the rise and fall of her chest in her plain white T-shirt wasn't anywhere near as captivating as the sheer enjoyment in her eyes.

The place was about as busy as I'd seen it, which is to say lively but hardly crowded - this club night only ever drew in its dedicated crowd, plus a few hangers on. Not too busy; just how I like it, which is why I didn't protest too much when Jack dragged me along tonight. Why he'd suggested it, even - I had just told him I needed to get out more.

A gentle current of tired, thirsty dancers washed towards my spot at the bar, but the arpeggios of the next song's intro sparked a familiar flutter in my chest. I hopped off the stool and darted through to the dancefloor.

I'm more of a musician than a dancer, but I knew this one, and throwing my arms in random directions while I belt out one of my favourite songs is more than enough to justify the price of entry even when it isn't an excuse to try and break the ice with someone I was, by this point, hopelessly crushing on.

I found myself an empty space and paused. The heavy sole of my right boot tapped the floor as I waited for my moment - eyes demurely down, arms a little out from my sides, a quiet smile on my face.

I slammed out the first line, and suddenly I was moving - head back, elbows out, skirt a flash of red as it flared out around my hips. I stood up to impress a girl, sure, but maybe that was just an excuse to get on the floor and out of my shell; I lost myself in the music, and everything else disappeared.

I caught a quick breath as the verse ascended towards the first chorus, and let the currents of the dancefloor take me where they would. Shoulders bumped shoulders and the song moved on, until I found myself singing into a very familiar face.

She was giving as good as she got, and she grinned around the words as our eyes met. We dropped into rhythm, shimmying forward and back as we orbited through. Eyes, feet, chests danced closer and closer and never quite touched, and

the song was over.

I caught my breath, not quite sure if I was more winded from the singing or her attention, and mouthed 'Drink?'

Her quick, birdlike nod was the best thing that'd happened to me all day.

We pushed through to the bar, and as we waited to be served, I wound up all the courage I could find and said, "Hi! I'm Steph."

"Grace! Nice to meet you."

I was mercifully rescued from needing to find anything else to say by the bartender cutting in with a polite "What'll it be, ladies?"

"Another of the same for me, and-" I threw Grace a questioning look.

"Rum and coke. Double, if you're buying?" she added with a teasing smirk.

"A double rum and coke, sure." I slipped a hand through one armhole of my top, pulled my card out of my bra, and paid for the drinks in the single most undignified motion known to womankind. I somehow managed to meet Grace's gaze as I reversed the whole procedure to put it back, daring her to say something about it.

Neither of us broke the eye contact as our drinks clinked onto the bar beside us; I'd taken a solid pull of my cider before she looked away, and that was only to glance at my bottle.

"That stuff good?"

"Yeah, pretty solid - I was only ever in it for the flavour and I'm a miserable drunk, so alcohol-free suits me just fine."

She nodded, and it looked like she was about to say something else when her eyes fixed somewhere behind my left shoulder, and her shoulders tensed up.

"Hey, don't turn round, but there's a guy staring at us and grinning. Friend of yours, or...?"

The edge of worry in her voice almost set me off, but- "Kinda short, sleeveless top, axe tattoo on his right arm?"

She nodded, I grinned, she relaxed, and I gave Jack the finger over my shoulder without turning round.

"Yeah, that's Jack. Not surprised he's enjoying this. I'd trust him with my life, but he's the worst wingman in existence."

Her smile widened and turned pleasingly malicious. It took me a couple of seconds to catch up.

I realised two things at the same time.

I'd just said that; and her knee had juuuuuust grazed against my calf, and stayed there.

I was pretty sure that wasn't an accident.

I leaned into the contact a little, met her gaze with my best challenging smirk, and decided to wait for her to say something.

The warm fluttering tension in my chest built slowly, but it jumped up a notch or three when she leaned suddenly forward and whispered into my ear "Seems like a good enough wingman from here."

I'd just about found where I left the ability to form coherent sentences when she knocked back the remains of her drink, slid off the bar stool, and glanced back at me over her shoulder. "Want to carry on this conversation somewhere we don't have to shout over the music?"

Jack gave me a cheerful salute as we passed him. I flipped him off again.

--

I shrugged my jacket into place as I stepped into the cold night air and found Grace leaning against the wall. My eye caught on the lines of her right leg, knee forward and foot flat on the alley's bricks.

I'd've felt bad about blatantly checking her out if I couldn't see she her eyes following the curves of my calves between the hem of my skirt and the tops of my boots.

I dropped in next to her, my arm nudging up against her shoulder.

"Gonna be honest: I have no idea how to carry on this conversation."

"I can work with that," she replied, and then she was pushing away from the wall, hooking one arm around the back of my head, and pulling me down to meet her lips.

I arched my back, wrapping my arms around her, and melted into the kiss. Her teeth grazed my lip. My fingers feathered over her back. Hers tangled in my hair.

We broke apart for a moment, gasping quick breaths, then darted together again. The soft pressure of our breasts pressing together sent a shiver of liquid heat to my crotch, and I felt myself stirring. Denim grazed against the skin of my thigh; the air's chill and her warmth danced on my skin.

My breath caught and I leaned forward - pressed further into her, hungry and insistent, until my burning lungs insisted I come up for air.

Arms still hooked around my neck, she graced me with another sweet smile and asked, "You want to carry this on somewhere more comfortable?"

A hollow hungry yearning opened in my chest, but I leaned to the side, broke away. She took the hint, untangled her arms, and stepped back; waited for me to carry on.

I stepped away from the wall. My shoulders were up around my neck, and I hated it - back to being the nervous kid I've been trying so hard to leave behind.

She was waiting, still - for the first time she looked nervous, a little hurt.

I took a deep breath and got the fuck on with it.

"That sounds great, but... OK. I'm trans, I have a dick, I hope that's not a problem."

She laughed, then - not mean or mocking or even nervous, just relieved. In the middle of everything else I was feeling, I was impressed that she could do that - laugh, and so clearly not mean any of the thousand awful things I could imagine someone saying to me in that moment.

She collected herself, and with a reassuring smile she said, "I figured you might say that, from the..."

She didn't lean in, left me space, but one slim arm reached out and she poked me gently in the chest.

I looked down at her finger, neatly placed between the pastel pink and blue stripes of the patch on my jacket.

"Right. Bit of a hint, yeah."

This time I reached for her, hands pulling her waist in to meet me. We kissed again, deeply, and I wasn't afraid to mould myself against her. Her hand slipped under my jacket, fingers cool against my bare shoulder, and one leg slipped under my skirt to press against the increasingly insistent hardness beneath.

I moaned into her mouth; she nipped my lip, leaned back, pressed a darting kiss to my jaw, and asked, "Come back to mine?"

"Let me tell Jack where I'm going?"

"Sure."

I pulled my phone from my jacket without breaking our embrace, and found a text from Jack waiting for me:

'Seems Nik knows her from that running group - Grace, lives on Shoebill Lane?'

It's possible he's a better wingman than I give him credit for.

I shot a quick message back- 'math checks out. see you tomorrow ;)'

"All yours," I told Grace.

--

I'm pretty sure the taxi driver gave us a dirty look as he accelerated away, and it was enough to set me off giggling.

We probably deserved it for making out in the back of his car, anyway.

Grace danced ahead of me, a quick burst of speed to get to her front door first; for my part, I was happy to hang back and check out her butt.

She opened the door, waited for me to pry off my boots, and led me into a modest living room - sofa, TV, a few books, nothing I was remotely as interested in as her.

"Glass of wi- hm. I could put some coffee on?"

There's something deeply gratifying about people proving they were listening to me. This time, it was enough to make me go weak at the knees.

"I'm up for that if you want to take this slow, but honestly? I'm staggeringly horny, so..."

Grace's smile took a rapid turn into smirk. "Cool," was all she said before she disappeared up the stairs.

I told the part of me that couldn't believe I was doing this to shut up, and followed.

--

When I reached the bedroom, the lights were dimmed and Grace was reclining against the headboard like she'd been there all night.

I shucked my jacket onto the floor and crawled onto the bed to meet her. Her foot traced the back of my leg, then her hands were cupping my face, and I melted into another long kiss.

I dropped onto my side. Her hand traced from my jawline down to the high neck of my top, wrote a tantalising trail across my breast and belly, and pulled the top from under my skirt; dipped beneath to my navel. I shivered at the touch as my hands explored the ridges of her back and our lips met again.

I pulled back, kissed her neck, and began teasing at the hem of her shirt. She wasn't having any of it: she sat up and, in one smooth motion, peeled it off and threw it to the floor.

I stayed where I was for a moment, running fingertips up and down her flank and admiring the curves of her breasts above her plain white bra. She rolled her shoulders back and met my gaze with a soft smile, content to stroke my arm and enjoy my attention; then she unhooked her bra and let it fall.

I began kissing my way up her side, and she fell back to the pillows with a contented moan. My lips found the swell of her breast, the peak of her nipple. My tongue followed, then gentle teeth; she shivered and bent to press another kiss to the top of my head.

We kissed again, tongues dancing, and her hand traced over my skirt to the solid length of my cock. I fumbled with the button of her jeans, and we broke apart for a moment; with a flurry of busy hands she was naked, propped up on one elbow, as I kicked my underwear away from my legs.

I drank in the sight of her - long legs, the light brown hair between them, hips and slim waist curving up to breasts and neck and another beautiful smile. Her hand stroked the outside of her thigh as she waited for me.

So I reached for her, pressed against her. Our lips met once more, then I was kissing her jaw and neck and ear; my hand skimmed over her hip and down, between her legs.

I curled a finger into her slit, brought slick wetness up to her clit, hummed back the moan of pleasure she gave me - gave my own as her hand grasped my cock through the smooth fabric of my skirt, stroked it, then released, only to return and meet it skin to skin.

We turned - my back down, now, skirt flipped up around my waist, as she crouched, straddled my leg. She gripped my cock, stroking firmly up and down. I plunged a finger, two, deep inside her; curled them into the slick softness of her cunt, and we found our rhythm.

She bent down to kiss me, or I up to kiss her; our lips locked and we muffled our moaning together. I forgot everything but lips and hand and cock, my pleasure and hers, attuned to every gasp and shudder.

I felt the tremors start in her core and, impatient, kissed her more fiercely. My left hand danced around her body, spine and shoulder and soft breast. My right curled around and inside her, thumb tracing light circles around her clit.

Her knees shook. Her hand fell from my cock, grasped my chin, she kissed me, drank me in, and fell shuddering atop me.

As her breathing steadied, I embraced her; she pressed light kisses to my jaw, my neck.

We lay like that until - eventually - she pointed out, "You're still wearing clothes."

I cleaned my neck enough to see her face and replied, "Want me to fix that?"

She uncurled and sat on her heels, hands on her thighs, all attention and delight.

So I took my time: sat up, ran my hands down bare arms and up black-clad flanks, before trailing a slow hand between my breasts. The second followed it, and I took them hem of my top and lifted it away.

I held my arms at the peak of their arc for a moment and watched her watch me. Outstretched arms traced a lazy circle in the air. I curled a hand demurely against my chest. The other disappeared behind, fumbled with a clasp.

I held my bra against my chest for a few moments, drinking in her attention, then let it fall.

I think I looked a little nervous. Something made her move; feline Grace on all fours approached me, put a hand to my breast, and pushed me down to the pillows. She straddled me, kissed me, let her crotch rub against my cock.

Both of us at once reached a hand down to the elastic of my skirt, then it was sliding down my legs, kicked away and irrelevant. I felt the softness of her labia stroke gently against my cock, and hummed with pleasure.

She raised herself up; a hand pointed my cock at her cunt; I froze.

Immediately, she was beside me, not atop, murmuring - "Shit, sorry honey, I didn't mean..."

I breathed deep, grimaced, spoke: "Sorry. Sorry, it's just... Not me, you know?"

She leaned up a little, looked me in the eye, and wordlessly offered an embrace. I nestled into her arms, and she held me close.

We didn't speak; didn't do anything, for a while, but hold and be held and breathe in harmony.

I felt my heartbeat slow and calm, and began to notice the slight friction of my breasts against her skin as we breathed; the soft swell of hers beneath my arm. I kissed her jaw, then she lowered her head and kissed my lips.

It was gentle, at first. My breathing deepened. My heart began to hammer again. My cock stirred against her leg.

She gently pushed me back into the pillow, then traced the backs of her knuckles down me. My nipple thrilled at the touch of her hand, then at the lips that followed it. I moaned, and my hips thrust up against her. She looked up at that, met my gaze, and smiled a smile that shivered down to the tips of my toes.

A trail of kisses feathered down my belly. Her hand curled around the base of my cock; she knelt beside my hips, glanced back up at my face, and asked a silent question.

I could only nod a shaky, pleading nod.

A gentle kiss, first, right at the tip. I bit my lip as my hips bucked up again. Grace grinned, stroked her hand up my shaft, parted her lips and wrapped them around me.

Every last breath of air sighed out of me as her mouth enveloped my cock.

She pulled back, released me, and dropped her mouth to my root. Her tongue darted out and stroked gently up the length of me. Her eyes met mine as she fell once more around me.

She saw my hand jerk without thought to my breast; knead it, pinch it, squeeze every extra drop of pleasure from it. She hummed approval around me, and I moaned a wordless reply.

Her head began to rise up and down, one hand twisting gently in counterpoint. I reached down to touch her hair, her face; she reached the top of my cock, let it slide from her lips, and nipped, suddenly, at my finger. Her teeth sent a pleasant shiver through me and she sucked on my knuckle, her hand still gently stroking. Her other hand went to her own breast for a moment, then she released my hand and bent back to my cock.

She picked up speed, stroking and sucking faster and deeper. My hips bucked more and more often, and she met my pleasure with quiet grunts of approval. My breathing turned ragged as waves of warmth built up within me. I gasped, panted, wanted. She leaned up, stared me in the eyes, lips not around my cock but hanging open as her own breathing quickened at the sight of me; her hand pumped an insistent accelerando up and down my shaft, and as I bucked and moaned and gasped "I'm- nearly there-" she darted back down and locked her lips around my head and beat a rapid rhythm until I shook and moaned and shattered into orgasm.

I gathered my wits. Grace was sliding back beside me, smiling like the cat who got the cream. I kissed her, brief and absurdly chaste, and cuddled up to her.

We drifted to sleep in one another's arms.