~Ang Laga De Re|1MonthAnniversary|Passion&IntensityAmalgamation~

Originally posted by: ..DamonCrazy..

See...there are those dances. Which numb you & leave you in a state of absolute bliss. They reach out from the screen & slowly calm your heart & your soul, transport you to a fantasy land...one of such peace that is almost impossible to find otherwise. Such is the power of art. Abhi Mujhmein Kahin was one of those. So was Inn Lamhon Ke Damaan Mein. Atleast for me.

And Ang Laga De Re?

No...it wasn't. Because it doesn't match any of the feelings I described. Neither peace, nor bliss, nor stability, nor Utopia.

It was chaos. Pure chaos. It didn't wash over me in waves & caress my soul. It was liquid fire, an inferno, which hit me like a rapid & ignited every molecule in my body with an unsatiable thirst. It grounded me to this world & made me yearn to colour it with the raw passion & intensity which I saw onscreen.

I almost drooled a Dal Lake when the dance started, & I saw Shakti. God...this girl is beyond the reach of Words. They fail me today as I struggle to describe her ethereal beauty. She lifts her body from the coarse sand, searching, seeking, calling out to her salvation. And as she colours her body with the same sand, he heeds to her call. Good Lord...that intensity on his face. Though undoubtedly, it was surpassed as the dance went on.

And then they danced...the way the ArSha I know dance. Like they are made to dance together. Like the fluidity with which they flow alongside each other is the easiest thing to achieve in the world. That step, where he pulls her up holding her leg, then holds her in a split, & then spins with her... is beyond breathtaking. Those lifts...man, ArSha's lifts are uncomparable & unbeaten by any dancing duo. The part where she literally spun all around him...I almost fell off mu chair😲 Such flawless execution & even more so choreography. 😲 Hats off to the choreographer!

This is where the first part of the dance ends. Just before Kria turns Reyaansh around. And uptil that point...all is still good. The steps & fluidity are blowing my mind...but well, when do they NOT during an ArSha dance. There's a reason why I started to love dance after seeing them.

And then the pull happened, & after that I just wanted to go jump into a Himalayan glacier.

The music that played...its an extremely intense part of the song. It simply screams of desire, & I was actually wondering how it was going to be danced out when listening to the song. And oh my god...I was flung into the state of chaos I was talking about. Like no touch was enough, like no distance was close, like everything was too less. It was literally the physical manifestation of desire & want. And so beautifully & aesthetically executed, not a move looked vulgar. So explosive, so passionate...& I damn straight was almost reduced to tears by the intensity. I had no control over myself whatsoever.

Shakti's beauty was alight even more in the flame of the matchstick she held. I crush on her so freaking much its insane. Amar's expressions just very nearly murdered me. The part where she holds the...diya (?) & circles him...such a plethora of emotions play across their faces! He follows her in a trance, & they melt down together on the sand, the same from where she had risen...alone. He blows out the diya. The rest of their story is theirs & not for the eyes of the outside world.

And I am left in such a state of disorder, it disorients me. I cannot breathe. I cannot think. I cannot speak.

I thought of posting caps alongside the post , but then laughed off the idea. As if every move isn't imprinted in the mind of every KriYaanshian.

ArSha...I really have no words for you. Unparalleled perfection comes with such ease to you, I doubt I even have to say anything separately.

If this post does even 1% justice to the dance, I will be honoured.

Jog laga de re,

Prem ka jog laga de re.

Main toh teri joganiyaan

Tu jog laga de re...

Originally posted by: Incandescence.

Honestly, I have very few words left with me. It's like I am still under the paranormal spell of this act. This performance, nothing like this ever happened before on television screen. Nobody ever did that. And NO ONE will ever be able to beat this performance and ArSha's Chemistry. And frankly I don't know where KriYaansh ended and ArSha started. That perfection, it was ArSha.

It wasn't just one Hot, Sensual Act...It wasn't Hot because it was Divine, And Beautiful.

Those Emotions...That Desire...That Passion...That Hunger...That Ownership...That Intensity...That FIRE...That Holy Divine Fire. Oh My Holy God.

It wasn't just one DANCE...it wasn't.

The way he held her, like she was the most delicate thing he ever possessed. That Hunger to have her was so evident in his eyes, to mark her as his own forever. And the way his body moved with hers... It was Otherworldly. Where he was one Greek God and she was a Greek Goddess, Playing their Divine Love act, Worshiping each other in a temple decorated with Sand and Diya's. And there I said it all...

It was HOLY. It was DIVINE.

It was Divine how she blended in his hard muscular frame.

It was Divine how they danced like there was no tomorrow.

It was Divine how they breathed in same air...With a Desire so prominent in every move.

It was Divine, Celestial, Godly...And there it goes on. It was Beautiful.

The way her body melted under his gaze as if he was the only thing she needed in that moment. The way they swayed to the beats. Effortlessly. Those Lifts, Those Poses. Their Costumes. Their Expressions. Their Body Language. EVERYTHING. Every Goddamn Thing was PERFECT.

I repeat, it is NOT easy to Dance on such numbers without having a skin, skills andChemistry, which is obvious. And today...Each ArSha Fan is left Speechless, Numb...In a state of absolute vacuum, where we can't feel or hear or react to anything. Damn Damn Damn... Every time they dance together, Its like they are in a complete different world, Just two of them, And everything seems blurred then, Just two of them and Music in BG...And then they dance till Eternity.

With So much of ease they did those lifts, with so much of fluidity. Yes Dance was sensual, But in NO way it was vulgar, It was Beautiful...Way beyond Beautiful. Divine, Holy And Divine.

The whole aura of set-up, Those Diya's, their costumes. It all added to its beauty. Its really hard to write, Write on this performance in actual sense, Because all our senses are burned down into ashes.

Such was the Beauty of it- Unparalleled, Supreme, Beyond Compare, Matchless, Unsurpassed.

Originally posted by: _SenbonZakura_

I know I am a little late. But the majority of you guys know why. So without further explaining, just read the post.

I am pretty sure it is very boring, and I have no idea of what I wrote.

So, brace yourselves.

-X-X-X-X-X-

She is laying there on the sand.

Heaving heavy breathes.

It seems as if she is on her death bed.

Waiting for something or the other to either rid her of all the cruelty that ensues in her life without him, or for him to come to other and breathe life into her.

She doesn't know which one she wants more in that instant. Death, or him.

His burning presence, or the soothing from it that death will bring.

She doesn't know, until she feels him in her vicinity.

That is when she finally knows. There really is no distinction. Him... It has always been him.

It is him that'll be the death of her.

And it is him that'll be the life of her.

Her body cries out in tortured agony. She wants him.

She only wants him.

She writhes on the sand. In pain. In struggle.

She twists on it and calls for her loved one to beckon.

She rubs the sand all over her suffering body, as if it would serves as an ointment.

As if even momentarily, it would provide relief to her body which is dying of his need.

She twists, taut as a coil.

But he takes his time.

He watches her, and revels in the fact that she needs him. It is a pure physical manifestation of want, her body that is.

And that is what he enjoys.

That is what fuels his manly pride.

That is what strokes his desire, his ego.

And watching her moving so beautifully, writing in agony, in want, only for him... He lets the sands slip out of his hands... As if telling her that she doesn't need the pseudo-ointment anymore.

He is here.

And he is here for her.

She feels him finally here.

And all her desires surface, uncontrollable to her mind.

She stretches out her hands to him, in hopes he'll catch on to her.

But he doesn't catch on. He latches her hands on to him, and his own hand on her neck. It is the most sensitive area of her body, and he knows this.

He knows that if he wants to show how much he owns her body, he will have to clutch her like she is his and only his property alone.

They start moving in unison, as if doing a mating dance of their own. It is a brilliant showdown of who breaks first. Of who cannot take the need anymore. And of who will give in to it first?

She bends down, her hands lifting to him backwards, and he grabs them. She stretches a leg backwards, and then, miraculously, flips fully into his arms.

He has his arms in support of her whole body, but he refuses to touch her.

She begs in the form of the song, to be touched once, to be loved once. But alas, he is in the mood of being cruel.

He lifts her. He twirls her. But he won't break. He won't give in to the yearning yet.

This is not about love. No, love is a thing that is much too miniscule compared to this.

"Everything in this world is about sex. Except Sex. Sex is about Power."

He avoids her advances, and moves to the steps. Until he cannot do it anymore. Until she sways in his arms, and that is when he realizes, there is want in him as well.

He leisurely slides down both his arms down her frame, as she stands still as a statue, letting him do his bidding.

His touch is marvelous on her, and she wants to savor it.

"I will only let you touch me, if your hands are so full of intention, that every brush of your palms feels like you are writing a novel on my skin."

She slithers, he slides. Both their bodies move in unison to their love song, and then he twists her to face him, and both their bodies crash into each other like ferocious waves of the sea.

The moment this happens, they remove each other completely from the touches.

And next when they come in contact to each other, she is hesitant.

She tries to move away from the intensity he is radiating, afraid that she won't be able to handle the beast she is provoking.

He clutches her hand, not letting her go away again, for his fire is already fueled, and it is too late.

She slides down on the floor, thinking the cold floor maybe will bring respite to the heat that is consuming everything inside her.

But he rolls her up on his body, breathing in her intoxicating scent. He dips down and feels her chest up, the moistness driving him crazy with ludicrous need.

"He was now in that state of fire that she loved. She wanted to be burnt."

So, he grazes his hand over the expanse of her body that is lying on the floor, and holds her feet to pull her up. As soon as she is in his arms, he feels her readying for him too.

He dips her slightly downwards, so that her honeyed flesh is for him to taste. His fingers climb the mountains, and slide down the plateaus, revering in the feel of her flesh. She is exquisite, and she is his.

"We are all searching for someone whose demons play well with ours."

He lifts her up, and then living up to his immense expectations, she slides down his body, twirling, rolling as if he was nothing but a mere pole of steel.

She lays down bare on the floor, and he climbs on her. Her hest heaves upward, wanting to give him more access than he is allowing himself.

She turns sideways, and he joins his body with hers. His hand feels her bare stomach, and he tries testing her next instant, removing himself off of her.

She doesn't want to be tested anymore, and just wants him to see that the fire is equally, if not more inside of her.

She advances towards him like a lioness, as he backs up. She has had enough of this game already, which has her under his paws.

So she goes to him and hugs him from behind, her whole body melting into his, wanting him to give in already.

Wanting him to stop playing this game.

Wanting him to know that she would die of physical need any instant.

"I hunger for your taste, your smell, the feel of your soul touching mine."

The temple bells ring, and he heeds to her prayers. He turns to her and while her hands have been begging him through their touches to satiate her, he finally beckons to their call and thrashes her form to his.

She is finally in his arms, her body feeling a thousand sensations in few seconds. She bends her head back, allowing him full access to explore her. And explore he does. He drowns himself in her heaving chest, tasting her to his heart's content.

"The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all around him. She had become a physical necessity."

She does not control her body anymore, he does.

He scorches her, blinds her senses.

He devours her.

And yet, she feels blissful.

She feels as if the earth and the stars and the moon and the sun all are irrelevant and the only thing that seems to exist is him.

She feels that if his body leaves contact with hers she would just vanish into nothingness.

She feels as if her body has been set on such a devouring fire that seems to want no fuel whatsoever to exist.

She feels his lips, and she wants more.

She feels his digits, and she wants more.

She feels her aroused form rubbing on his, and she wants more.

Everything. Everything. Everything.

She wants more and more till she completely combusts and there is nothing left in her except him.

As he sets her down on the sand, her body cannot accept the distance. She pounces on him, wanting to feel him more.

Wanting his lips on her.

Wanting his hands on her.

Wanting him on her.

Want.

She has never ever wanted anything this much.

As her back thrusts on his chest, she contorts in pleasure of the moment, and bends her head back to find his lips on her again, ravishing her. Brandishing her.

"I need someone who sees the fire in my eyes and wants to play with it"

She ignites the lamp with the fire in her heart, and he watches hungrily as she blows off the igniting light.

She takes the lamp in her hands as an offering to her deity, him.

She twirls in anticipation, as his touch drives her into madness.

She waits patiently, knowing her prayers will be answered soon.

He takes her into his arms and lifts her, and she performs an erotic hymn in his arms, finally anticipating her bliss.

As he finally puts her down, his eyes tell her that she doesn't need to beg anymore.

His eyes tell her that all her pleas are being answered. His putting out the lamp tells her, that the need... the want will be quenched.

Yet, it'll never be satiated.

For, Him and her will always be unfinished business.

-X-X-X-X-X-

I made this post because I promised Uppi that I would. For her I broke my kasam. I think I'll be a noobie tomorrow ab.

Sigh.

The italics parts are quotes from all over the internet. I didn't find half of the credits.

The images used are Dee's creations. I found the darkness absolutely amazing in them. The credit is hers. I just used them here coz they were beautiful.

Ciao.

No Love.

Anky.

Originally posted by: -Blind.Dance-

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She looked around. The big stage , a bed of sand, diya's and looked down at her. She unknowingly gulped the saliva in fear. Things doesn't seem right. She doesn't know how she got here, who bought her here, that too tied up along with him.

But where the hell is he. Why are they locked up in this room. And the main thing is she is still confused why she changed into these clothes. She was just recollecting what had happened right from the time they were kidnapped when she saw him coming . Struggling with his dhoti, and she froze. Her eyes caressed his naked torso while her heart screamed to run hands over them, touch him, feel him, kiss him and crush herself against him. He looked like a greek God , those muscles perfectly sculpted , those calculated abs and his delicious color making her loose all the sanity and innocence The Kriya Ghai is known for. She wanted to be a bad girl in front of him, with him, she want him , she craved for his touch which gives a new life to her cells. And she sighed seeing his hips move slowly yet so sensually wanting her to just feel his hips against her. She is in need. She wanted him badly and Now!!

She walked slowly towards him. He cursed whatever came into his mind adjusting the dhoti. Why can't he find the shirt anywhere?? But Thank God let him first handle this dhoti then he will leisurely think about the shirt. He sensed something and he very well knew what and whose it is. She is again staring at him , with those sinful, erotic yet so pure and innocent eyes. Every time he looks into her eyes he want to crush her under him kiss her hard, make love to her until her body gives up and shout at her that how much her one looks turns him on. Her eyes depicted the raw need and he somewhere knew his reflected the same. He still wants to keep himself away from her , he shouldn't let go off his guard but his every argument, request , fight reaches the drains seeing her big round eyes which are right now shamelessly gawking at him. He slapped himself in mind and ordered his eyes to leave the contact with her eyes but he never knew he would regret that the most.

As his eyes left hers all they could end up was on her long slender waist . Damn how badly he wanna see it clearly but the bloody darkness ate half of his view at the most appealing view he ever saw. His eyes traveled all along the long white shirt which with such an ease hugged her waist and the thread holding it tight and right at her waist. How he wished he could just let it free from its tangled self and just devour the beauty in front of him. As his eyes moved up all his sane thoughts burned in the flames of those diya's as he saw her chest move in rhythm .

High time. She can't hold it more and walked towards him as he bent on his knees adjusting his dhoti at his ankles and kneeled behind him. Her eyes drank his image and she caressed his back. She sensed him stiffen but he stayed quite. Taking that as a green signal she passed her soft palms over his hard flesh igniting flames. He let her take the lead. She held his shoulder still refusing to hold him at a single place and caressing his arms and turned him towards her, her desires reflecting in her eyes. She let her hands touch his every inch, increasing his desires. A spark rolled down her spine as his hand slowly passed over her waist and what she knows next is her skin burning and her want of her against him coming true. His eyes full of desires and lust , which exactly she wanted right now excited her heart. Her hands shamelessly moved over his torso and he couldn't help but cluth her hair in his fist and jerk her towards him to take into a rough yet deep kiss. Her nails drilled into his torso as he nibbled her lower lip creating this sudden unbearable pleasure , as he rubbed his frame against hers fulfilling the desires of his skin. How he wished he had no obstacle between them, and her blouse was the thing he hated the most at this moment. Her cleavage with the dripping sweat and her moulds playing hide and seek with his eyes made him dig his fingers in her waist when she pushed him hard breathing hard. His eyes hard, dark , full of hunger. She took steps back with a shy yet bold smile on her face when his face was hard as steel. She moved to a corner to light the place , to make it perfect and she saw him move closer as she lit the light. She wanted him, but she wanted to excite him, give her best for him, and she very well knows what would be her best , her dance and that's what she choose. But the thing she didn't expect is him dancing with her. She wanted to dance for him but the moment his hand fell on her waist she went blank. She closed her eyes and held the diya high and turned and he took the lead. She held her, twirled , his eyes noting every moment of her. He loved it when she is this close to him and that's what he did he pulled her close, as her beautiful body stretched with one leg on the ground and the other almost at his shoulder level. She looked beautiful and tonight he is gonna have her, all for himself. He felt his manhood harden when she played with sand over his body enjoying to her devilish best. He couldn't wait more, it's time her makes his way into her and he took a step front suddenly making her stumble and fall on her knees on the sand bed. And in a blink of eye he went on knees and pulled her over him and rolled over her and finally capturing those lips. He could feel sand everywhere right from her lips to their shoulders and hands. But her flavour , her smooth texture was all it mattered , and his fingers found that thread which they were longing to and set it loose making her hips free from the long piece of cloth. For sure God had a hard time making her , sculpting her. His hands toyed with her dori when she quickly pulled the belt around his waist in need kicking the dhoti away from his slender legs. He took a halt to have a hearty look at her naked glory before stepping in to savour it.

After a heated and extremely tired make out session she opened her eyes slowly breathing hard and that's when the reality hit her hard. He was still standing in front of her, she was still glued to her place. And the world came down crashing. It was a fantasy. A f**king Fantasy . She composed herself. She would break down at any moment, she need to leave and thus she stammered.

"Rey.. wo.. hum.. yaha "and her voice stuck in her throat as he pulled her hard against his frame .

She looked everywhere except his eyes and started again in vain "Rey"

"Shhh " she felt his finger on her lips and a few seconds later her body started to heat up as his thumb caressed her lower lip. And that's when she looked up , in his eyes.

One look into them .. she knows... She is gonna live her recent fantasy .

_____________________________________________________

-Deetha😳

Originally posted by: Couch_Potato

ArSha OS - Ang Laga De

He hates the way her hands move on his shoulder. Actually he just hates her hands. And the control they display.

--

He had woken up that morning feeling disoriented and still felt foggy even after three chais. Charlie had already warned him he'd feel this way in the morning when he had popped those sleeping pills last night. But it was either this or bloodshot drowsy eyes and lethargic steps. And he couldn't afford that.

He's just finished getting his touch-up done when he sees her walk onto the set. Her steps are short, her body tense and she's avoiding his eyes. He sighs. It's going to be a long day.

They have been practicing this routine for days now. Initially individually and then together. It was always fun and games, laughs and taunts until the final dress rehearsals. Until the final shoot.

He often wonders why that is and then laughs. He's been hanging around her for too long, has started to take on her traits. Has begun asking questions whose answers are glaringly obvious, stare one in the face.

But this time it's different. Things could be different. They could be different. If only she chooses to change things. Chooses to change them. Chooses to pick him.

But she doesn't even want to consider the possibility and he's getting tired of waiting. He'd said he's willing to wait, convinced himself it was the right thing to do, that everyone felt differently and to different extents but he's been waiting for far too long for what he sees in her eyes to travel to her lips. He's tired of waiting for the transition to happen.

--

She's pissed off at him. Pissed at him for pushing her like this. For putting these conditions on her, for limiting her. She has never been one to be caged or tied down. He knows this. He's known this for years, just like she's known him - and his issues. They have an understanding between them, a shared beginning, a long history. How could he just put everything at risk? Why did he keep doing this to her? Why did he keep asking when he knew her answers, the one she uttered and the one she meant.

But he knows everything doesn't he? And now he's using it to his advantage. She would feel betrayed if she wasn't feeling this white hot rage coursing through her veins. He was using her weakness and his strength by wrapping it up under the guise of her passion and his act. Of course he would choose to have The Argument right before their dance. She should have seen it coming. He had cornered her. Used the show, the set, the shoot, the sequence - everything to his advantage.

She would have seen it coming, she reprimands herself, if she hadn't trusted him so blindly. But it's okay she reasons. For he may have abused her trust but she knew the best way to exact revenge was to be thoroughly professional.

After all, she knew his weaknesses just as well.

--

They're taking positions. It's time to shoot. He walks on to stand at the designated mark. He hasn't spoken to anyone all day today and he doesn't want to start now. They think he's in-character and he lets them.

He sees her approach from the corner of his eye and his body catches on fire. His senses are already on an overdrive from what's about to happen, what he's about to do and this is the last thing he needs.

He knows they're merely actors, pretending and enacting for the cameras - faking it, as she reminds him often. But it's only the make-belief that offers him a taste of the real. Like her standing there in messy, bed hair - the way he imagines her hair would look if he ran his fingers through it all night. It's styled he knows, but it's enough to offer him a glimpse of what could be, what should be.

The white sheet she is wrapped in just heightens the current already running through the room. There are lesser people than usual today, and she's not the only girl in the room. They've tried make this shoot as comfortable as possible for both of them and he would have appreciated it too but he catches the subtle way she clutches the sheet tighter around herself before steeling herself and dropping them to the ground and he immediately turns around, averting his eyes.

No one notices and no one cares. He's glad for that. He isn't sure how he would explain her sudden modesty or his reaction to it. He wishes he could blame it on the cultural connotations attached to Indian attire, but he knows it's not as simple as that. He doesn't think he understands it either. He's seen her in everything - from saari to sarongs and yet all he knows is that when she's modest, he finds his eyes lowering and quickly flitting away, every single time.

--

They have practiced the routine various times before. So when the time comes, he follows his instincts because he knows she'll follow the steps.

That will be his strength. That will be her downfall.

--

She moves with the music while he stands still. Even with his back to her, he knows how she would look, her body writhing to the music. The muscles in his back bunch up. He has to physically fight to calm his breathing, to not turn back and watch her, to stay focused. If he does this right, there will be plenty of time for that later. For now, he has a task at hand and giving the hottest performance of their career isn't just it.

--

She knows the exact moment things turn dangerous. Feels the power shift from all the way across the room. She had been expecting it. When things didn't go his way, he sometimes played dirty. And she played cold. She continues to move like nothing happened, like she senses nothing, like the dark quiet intensity vibrating off him didn't just sound warning bells in her head.

They were shooting after all, it was a practiced routine, what could he possibly pull off?

--

He turns right on cue, just as she's rubbing sand down her body. There's a precision even in her longing. He watches her as she pretends to be lost in her feelings, watches how calculated her moves are, who in control her body is. There is a reason she's considered to be one of the best dancers nationwide, she knew how to mold her body, to tame it to move just as she wanted, to convey what she wanted to show.

He hates that control. He hates her ease, hates the way she could appear to be soo immersed when he knew better. He can barely hold on to his resentment as he approaches her. His steps calculated, measured. He needs to hold on to his control to ensure she loses hers.

He watches her keenly. Even as a shiver runs down his spine. He knows she's moving for the cameras, but by the time this act is over, he'll have made sure it'll all be for him.

With a shake of his head, he comes to stand behind her. Soon she would reach out to him and he'll crumble her control like the sand that falls from his palms. But first, he'll play by the rules. Better not to warn her off just yet. He'll wait for the right time.

--

They go through the steps with a perfection earned over time. They compliment each other - two halves of a whole. A fact even she doesn't shy away from admitting. He often wonders how uncomfortable it makes her feel to realise he is the only one that can support her body, spin it, lift it, turn and twist it as well as only she can. He watches her as he dances besides her. Wonders what she thinks of his body moving besides hers. If she thinks of him as anything more than an accomplice, the perfect partner, the perfect support. Wonders if she can feel his heart pounding against his chest when he wraps his arms around hers and pulls her crashing back against it. Wonders if it even matters to her. If anything aside from perfection matters to her.

He gets his answer when he feels the cold air slap against his torso when she subtly moves away, moves ahead. She knows his body well, would have read his reactions by now but she forgets, he laments as he holds her arms up, following the steps and runs his hands down her body - that he knows her body better. Where she had insisted on keeping distance between their bodies, he makes sure she feels the heat of his hands blaze down her body. Feels his touch hot against the cold, every inch of the way. He knows she wouldn't break the routine as he turns his head into her hair. She's suddenly breathing heavier. He then presses his hands onto her waist, tighter than necessary and lifts her. Her hands tighten on his wrists. A warning, a plea, a restrain - he doesn't know which and he's past caring.

They're going through the motions again soon, practiced steps he could pull off in his sleep. Until he turns her around and let's his body mirror hers in a wave motion. That is when he finally offers her a glimpse, drops his mask for a bit. Just to see her reaction. While his body obey the rhythm and the beat, his eyes are on a quest of their own. Questioning, challenging, seeking and she stares back head on. She's got nothing to hide, nothing to show that he wishes to see.

They're walking in circles, like they have always done, like they always do. And then she leaves, like she always does but this time he pulls her back and she leaps into his arms and he sweeps her off her feet and spins her around. It's merely a step, done to death but somehow it feels like a missed chance, a flash of what could have been. If they had acted different. He's looking up at her and she's looking down. But their eyes mirror the same expressions, hold the same fleeting thoughts.

For a moment though, he forgets his anger, and she forgets her rage and they forget their routine. But they're professionals and the show must go on and it does. And everything comes crashing back and she's flowing out of his arms down to the ground while he lets her.

If they hadn't been doing it for so long, they would both ave crumbled to the ground by the sheer emotional force of it all.

--

It is only when she is back into his arms, after they have just penned a sonnet in motion, his arm around her waist, hers around his shoulder that she throws him off guard by running her fingers through his hair. The shock must show in his eyes because he sees a corner of her lip turn up mockingly even as she brings her feet up and wraps herself around his body. When she falls back, he makes sure to not touch her. To move his hand just above the contours of her body, a breath away from touching but close enough to leave a trail of sensations behind. A dark promise of things to come - if she lets them.

But a few moments later, as he watches her crawl to him, lithe as lioness with just as much fierceness in her eyes, he realises he's not the only one with temptations to offer. It's all a part of the act but if this is what she looks like play acting, he wonders... and then quickly turns around just in time to hide the glint in his eyes. When he feels her curl up against his back hiding her face into his shoulder blade, tighter than intended, it feels like a real embrace and oddly like she's offering an apology. He's glad for the dimness that hides his confusion.

--

The minute the director shouts cut, she's springing away from him as if she's burnt and he feels a splash of coldness chilling him to his bones. He should be used to the hot and cold by now, should be used to her, but he isn't. He doesn't think he'll ever be used to her. Getting used to requires time, tradition, trust, taming but she's a force and he's merely a reflector.

--

He's just stepping back in for the next part of the shoot after getting off the phone with Charlie. She's more worried about the sequence than he is, had left him numerous missed calls. Her concern overwhelms him and sometimes like right now, he wonders why she chooses to be with him and why he just can't love her the way she deserves. Then he remembers The Promise. No doubts, no sorries, no demands - to just live for today. He shakes his head in an attempt to shrug off his feelings. He has all the time to think about this later but right now, he has work to finish. And take another shot at his future.

There is a change of plans he soon finds out. They're shooting for the third sequence of the song instead of the second now. He struggles to hold in a smirk and fails. He knows exactly why that happened and looks up just in time to see her step onto the set. Her eyes are cold, her face blank and he feels his smirk widening.

By the time the shot is set and the candles lit, she's gotten the mask back in place. When the camera rolls, she looks serene and calm, her face literally glowing. By the looks of it (and he knows it's an act. It's always an act.), she's forgotten all about their alteration, about what happened an hour ago, about him. He feels his chains rattled and it must show for he notices the satisfied look that flashes in her eyes for a moment. They were back to square one. Back to pretending nothing happened. Again. Of course.

He's been playing this game for far too long to slip now. He's tired of it, but he won't be the one to quit. He'll be the one to make her stop.

--

She's lighting a diya and he's watching her like he's meant to. Watches the way she blows the match off, grand gesture and all and thinks it's ironic. Fire and her and them. How she's the one that lights it but he's the one that burns. How she's the only one that can put it off yet is the one that ignites him. He's always related her to fire. Being around her has always felt like playing with the flames - a low shimmering that eats away at his sanity, slowly turning it to ash. But it was always worst when they danced. In those moments (rare moments, too much but never enough moments), he felt like he was being engulfed by an inferno. She blazed him to life and then left him charred.

When she gets up, he lets her see the burning in his soul, unveils his eyes but the cameras are rolling and she ignores him and he lets her. He follows her like he's meant to - led by her fire. A moth to a flame. And when he slides his hand across her bare skin, he's only following a step. But he makes sure to slow his movement just enough to let her know his intentions. Every move counts, every touch matters. These are his weapons - her body and his and he will use them wisely.

When he puts her down, he turns her towards him and she comes like she's meant to. But he's tired of rules, tired of the act, tired of restraining and control and he slips. Let's his fingers walk across her waist, lets her feel his presence and absence - his touch and lack of it all at once. He's giving her a choice and he watches intently to see what she picks. They're moving, sinking, falling to their knees but they're still staring at each other and he's watching her battle while she's pleading him to stop. Her breath hitches when he pulls his hand away, so subtle he would have easily missed it but he's her moth and he knows her every flicker. He puts his hand in her hair then and blows off the candle. He doesn't need the light anymore - he's already got his answer.

--

The next part, the middle part, the one they left until now is improv and he isn't sure if that was a smart move on their part anymore.

There is a particular challenge in performing improv. Most of the dancers he knows, his friends, his colleagues look forward to it. It's the perfect opportunity to put the best foot forward, show what they're made of - no holds barred. But he thinks otherwise. He doesn't think it's a chance for him to show off his dancing ability. Instead he believes it's dance's opportunity to show the dancer's reality. The feelings, emotions, passions, fear - everything comes barreling out when dance takes over. It pushes everything out to make room leaving the performer naked - his soul exposed.

He's always been wary of them, wary of it's power but when it's with her - he's usually downright scared. But things are different today, have to be and he sees it for what it is. Another chance for him to try, another opportunity for her to reciprocate. With the cameras around he wouldn't completely loose control and she wouldn't be able to run or hide.

They're starting where they left off from the first act. Her against his back but now they are back on the sand pit and he remembers her laying on it, moving, thrusting. They get up and she's got her hand on his shoulder. A perfect stance for him to lift her, spin her but he instead pulls her closer. She's soft curves against his hard abs and he searches her face to see if the impact throws her off. Her face gives nothing away, but her hand move in circles on his shoulders. He hates her hands. They're always in control. Even now, when they should grab on to him or push him away, they move as if it's all an act. As if that move was preplanned. But he's not surprised. It is her after all. Cold, precise perfectionist.

He stands still and stoic while his hand slowly moves up her body, tangles in her hair as she continues to move to the music. He knows she trusts him. That's the only reason why they haven't stopped yet. Why she's not called for the shoot to be stopped. It's a trust he has earned over countless hours, long nights, painful practice session. Most days he wears it around like a medal, a badge of honour but right now he feels it tight around his neck, a collar that restrains him, holds him back. Because he may be out to prove a point, to show her the truth that she hides but he would never do it at against her will. But right now he's tempted to see just how far she'll let him go. Just how long will she hold back before she lets it all show.

He pulls her head back and buries her face in the crook of her neck and leaves a small kiss (on impulse, impromptu he reasons!) when he feels her hand on his neck. She isn't stopping him but she isn't meeting his eyes anymore either. Her head's bent and her eyes are closed and somehow that's wrong. His hands are lifting her face before he even realises he's moving. He won't let her hide anymore. He needs her to see it's him. He needs her to see the face behind these sensations but most of her all he needs to see the effect of his touch on her face, in her eyes - so he knows what he's doing right and when he needs to stop.

She moves then, comes closer, and for a moment her eyes clash with his and their foreheads touch and then she's leaving, running, hiding - all over again. But he's having none of that. He pulls her back and runs his hands down her arms but she's flings them away and turns into him and pulls his head down. He looks up surprised and is prepared for her next move even before she makes it. She's moving back but his hands are pulling her in again and somehow in the milliseconds it takes for her body to meet his again, her resistance melts with the distance and they're wrapped around each other.

Peace and heat. He feels complete and on fire, both at once. The noise within has screeched to a halt and he feels lightheaded at the emptiness. Feels the need of his body stronger now that his soul's thirst has been quenched. The music continues, they're shooting and he needs to see her face. Needs to see for himself. He turns her around, and lowers her away from his body but her eyes don't meet his. She refuses to look at him. And he spins her around confused and lowers her again - one more chance, her last chance. He's done playing. He's done fighting. He spins her upright and makes her sit on the sand. It would be a bittersweet end to their sequence. But this time, for the first time, he wants to be the one to walk away. He looks at her one last time as he turns to go. She's looking at him. Her face contorted by emotions they haven't found names for yet. He turns to leave (too late, too silent) but feels her hand on his wrist stopping him. In reflex, his hand automatically (instinctively) tightens around her own and he lets himself be pulled.

When he looks down this time, his fingers once again in her hair, she shows him everything he's always dreamt of. She lets him in. He doesn't know how it happens next. Whether she pushes him or he pulls her but somehow he finds her on top of him and then they are rolling. Their bodies too strung up to stop just yet.

When they stop, she's moving up and so's he. She's turning away, shy this time - self conscious as the daze clears. But he's not done yet. And this time he calls the shots. He decides when she leaves. So he pulls her back to him and reclaims his hold on her. Her back against his chest, their hands entwined over her bare skin and his senses overwhelmed with her scent as he buries his face in her hair. He feels like he's drowning but she's the one swashing around. But even as she moves to and fro - to find relief, to find respite, he doesn't release her, doesn't let her go. When she finally gives up, drops her head back in surrender, he drops his to kiss her on her forehead. He still doesn't let her go.

It is only when they hear a voice, not just sounds, thuds, gasps, music - that they realise what just happened. He immediately drops his hand, she automatically puts hers where his had been even as she sits upright with a start. There is distance between them again.

He doesn't watch her go, finds himself unable to lift his eyes off of the floor. He has no idea how long he stays there, how long it's been since she's left, how long since they finished filming. But he realises it's time to go when a spot boy comes and offers him a hand to get him up.

--

When he opens his apartment door at 2am, he isn't surprised at all to find her standing outside. He moves aside wordlessly and she walks right in.

--