God help me, we’re winning.
And I’m starting to want it.
@chaoticballroom on Threads:
sorry but that wasn’t a quickstep that was a foreplay montage with jazz hands and i would watch it on loop until the sun explodes #hate2hot #quickstepgate
@realityrecapper on X:
HOLLY MARTINEZ GRABBING NATE BY THE TIE LIKE A BOSS???? the power. the dominance. the eroticism. the choreo. i need to sit down. forever.
Strictly Scandal Online:
Holly and Nate’s Quickstep: A fever dream of fringe, footwork, and filth. Suspenders haven’t seen this much action since Magic Mike. Insiders are saying…READ MORE→
@judgethirsty69:
“chemistry isn’t a category” WELL IT SHOULD BE. i don’t even like dancing shows. now i’m binge-watching edits and crying into my wine. i need help.
15
YOU IN DANGER, BOY
Nate
“If she tells me to behave, I’m going to disappoint her on principle.”
Backstage was humming with a different electricity now pulsing through the air; half adrenaline, half sex, andall of itclinging to his skin like sweat. The lights were dimmer but the space was louder, thick with the buzz of crew members whispering,‘Jesus, that was hot,’and production assistants giving them side-eyes like they'd just witnessed a live softcore porn broadcast.
Nate could still feel the floor vibrating under his feet. Or maybe that was just his heart, still hammering against his ribs like it wanted to abandon him completely and run off into the sunset with a certain smoke-show dancer. He trailed behind Holly through the crowd, his jaw tight, his body tighter. His dick had beenrock hardsince the moment she grabbed his tie mid-routine and dragged him back like he belonged to her.
He watched her pull pins from her hair one by one as they walked, blue feathers swaying around her bare legs and puffingout like a dream cloud in the breeze from the industrial-strength AC. She'd kicked off her shoes already, like she couldn’t bear to give them another second of her day and was wandering backstage barefoot. It made her look even more unguarded, more natural. Too damn tempting. Her cheeks were still flushed from the number, her skin glowing, and she had this soft little half-smile playing at the corner of her mouth that made him ache.
He let her lead until they were past the worst of the chaos, away from cameras and crew, tucked into the quiet hallway that led to the cast dressing rooms. Then he couldn’t help himself any longer. He stepped in closer, just enough to brush shoulders and let her feel the heat rolling off him like a second spotlight. Needing to be near her.
“You killed that,” he murmured, low and rough and meant only for her.
She huffed out a breath that was half laugh, half exhale. “You think I’d let you fuck it upnow?”
There was no bite in it. Not really. Nate felt the chirp right down to his bones, and threw back that crooked grin of his that had incited too many on-ice brawls and earned him a bit of a rep with the Broken Hearts Club.
Holly rounded a corner with him beside her. The hallway stretched out like a yawn ahead of them, quiet and empty. No bright lights, glitter balls, or excessive noise. Just the buzz of the show humming through the building, fading as they left it behind. Just sweat, adrenaline, and that filthy, unresolved fuckingthingthat had been smoldering between them since day one.
“I wasn’t acting, you know,” Nate said, his voice still low, butserious now. “Out there. When I said you’re the reason I got through tonight.”
That stopped her. She turned, full-body, barefoot and backlit and so fuckingrealit hit him like a punch. Her eyes narrowed, skeptical but searching.
“You always say the right thing when there’s a mic in your hand,” she said carefully, watching his every move just like she had since the second they’d met.
His throat suddenly felt tight. “I’m not holding a mic now.”
Silence stretched like elastic, heavy and tense, like it could snap any second and go either way. Holly stepped a little closer, and Nate felt the sheer pull of her, like gravity wouldn’t let him pretend she wasn’t everything he wanted and then some. Like he couldn’t deny that magnetic something she had that made him breathe like he’d just skated a three minute shift.
Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him, dark chocolate brown hair in the dimmed, intimate lighting of a corridor that smelled like shoe oil and stale Cheetos. And right there, right there in her fucking gaze, he saw it. Finally.
Desire.
“Then say it again,” she whispered.
