Keep Fishing

I'm gonna try a slightly different style with this one, so let's see how successful it is.

Disclaimer: I don't own MIOBI.

Summary: She felt it every time. And it didn't take a genius to know that he felt it too . . . Payson/Sasha.

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Keep Fishing

She felt it every time.

The moment he would pull back.

The moment he realized that the motives he designed for his own actions couldn't hold true anymore. The moment when he realized he had gone beyond the realms of friendship, and beyond their close bond as athlete and coach. The moment he realized that there were no more ambiguities and his actions, no matter how invisible, could only mean one thing.

And every time it was just a little bit further than before.

A caress to her back.

A kiss against her forehead.

A gentle squeeze of her hand.

His breath on her cheek.

And a dance that couldn't be deemed platonic even by the most casual observer.

It was her fault. She had pushed him into exactly the situation he had been furiously avoiding. But she wouldn't let him say no. She had defeated each and every one of his protests with an imploring look she hadn't even known she was capable of administering.

A look that crumbled his steadfast will and pushed him further than he had ever been before.

"Payson," he tried half-heartedly, a tiredness about his countenance that came from resisting for so long. "I'm sure you don't want this," he began, giving Payson the strange impression that he wasn't really talking about the dance even as he continued. "I'm sure there are plenty of other people you'd much rather be dancing with.

"Younger, more appropriate dance partners who would kill to be dancing with you," he finished more morosely. Payson was almost certain he wasn't talking about dancing.

"And you wouldn't?" she asked, feigning hurt. Flustered he tried to regain his footing and Payson couldn't help but laugh at seeing smooth, intimidating, confident Sasha Belov blush like a school boy in love.

Because she knew he was. Knew like she knew when she had perfectly executed her routine, or knew when she was about to falter her landing in that implicit way that was more a feeling than actual knowledge. She knew exactly what he was thinking and feeling, and every deprecating thought that chastised him for feeling what he shouldn't.

And that was why she pushed him.

Because she had to.

"Come on," she said, rolling her eyes as she led him to a clear spot on the dance floor.

"Payson, maybe we should wait," he began as a slow, romantic song began to play and the dance floor was suddenly surrendered to couples.

"No," she replied simply. "You're not getting out of it that easily," she told him.

Before he could mount further protest, she took the initiative, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into his strong frame. Instinctively, or perhaps just finally giving in to his desires, he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer and stroking slow circles into her back.

They were too close for friends.

Too close for coach and athlete, even those accustomed to sharing close personal space.

It was another of those moments where they stopped passing for either of those things. It was simply a man and a woman and all that that implied.

It was the point where he would normally pull back, and yet somehow - perhaps lulled into the submission by the dulcet tones of the jazz singer - he pulled her closer instead, his chin resting a top her head as she leaned her cheek against his chest.

"Now is it really so bad?" she asked quietly.

"No," he admitted reluctantly, swallowing thickly. "It was quite . . ."

"Perfect," she finished for him, lifting her head so she could look him in the eye.

He didn't disagree.

The music stopped and the crowd applauded loudly around them.

"Maybe next time you could ask me to dance."

And that was it.

She had pushed as far as she was willing to push and now it was his turn.

The ball was in his court now because he knew how she felt and all he had to do was make his move, and she would be his.

As the opening bars the next song filled the air, she pushed out of his arms and walked away. She didn't look back to see if he would follow and when he didn't, she wasn't disappointed.

Now was simply her time to wait. To see if he would come to her or if he would keep denying what was becoming painfully obvious to everyone around them. She wasn't accustomed to such a practice of patience, but she had no choice when the thing she was trying to catch seemed to have resolved himself to this limbo.

It was all about timing.

It was all about patience.

And as every good fisherman knows, it was all about setting the right bait.

~FIN~

I know that dances are a bit overused, but meh. I'm slightly disappointed that I couldn't fit this into the Sixteen-By-Eight Feet universe but I always pictured the relationship in that starting at least a year after they ceased to be athlete and coach and I'm far too committed to the idea to let it go for the sake of a single chapter.

Let me know what you think . . .