6304/Dancing Fool

Dancing Fool
Date of Scene:	28 January 2019
Location:	Avengers Mansion, New York City
Synopsis:	Janet gets a swing dance lesson from Steve
Cast of Characters:	Captain America, Wasp (van Dyne)

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Captain America has posed:
Upstairs, the Avengers mansion is quiet. Most everyone's out running errands or off at official, publically-sanctioned duties. However, interestingly enough, there is some music playing from the den room. It's not uncommon to hear such a thing, especially with Tony in-house, but it's not Guns-and-Roses or Black Sabbath or...anything heard in the last seventy years. It's decidedly 'big band', brass and all, and the smooth crooning of Ella Fitzgerald filters out through the cracked den door.

Inside, movement can be heard, like the rhythmic shuffling of smooth-bottomed shoes on the carpeted floor, as if someone were...moving along to it. Peering in will show one Steve Rogers making his way through what appears to be a basic swing dancing exercise. East Coast, of course, elsewise he'd be a traitor to Brooklyn itself. In jeans and a baby-blue t-shirt, he's got a small smile and little frown of concentration on as he dances along to "Drop Me Off in Harlem". The couch and sofas are all pushed off to one side and on the big-screen TV, a professional dance coach mirroring the moves he has on display.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
The music alone is weird enough to get Janet's attention. As she so often does, the socialite's buzzing around inch-high to a grasshopper and moving as fast as her waspy wings can carry her. But the sound of that crooning alto pulls her attention and she flickers to full size just outside the door. Tiny as she is, she can be quiet, and peers through the door.

Whatever she was expecting to see, it wasn't Steve Rogers performing a rhythmic swing dance. And *line dancing*, at that. Sure, Janet's spent her time in denim shorts and cowgirl boots at certain clubs-- but what Steve's doing is practically choreography as opposed to lazy boot-stomping.

An impish expression crosses her face and she raises her cell phone upwards to slyly record Steve's dancing. For... posterity. Or something equally innocent, surely.

Captain America has posed:
Oblivious to the zippy arrival of the fashionista given the volume of the music on play, Steve continues to work through the exercise with an invisible follow. A lift of his hand to execute a tuck-turn followed by a little pause and frown at the middling air before himself. He glances at the TV screen and rewinds it about thirty seconds to watch the teacher do it again. Then, with the usual enviable combination of memory and kinesthetic prowess, he tries again and it's rather spiffy-looking. Imagine the flowing ripple of a loose skirt about the would-be follow. Smiling to himself, an expression showcasing those dimples in passing, he then spins in place on his toe before slipping into something that's like Charleston, given the step pattern. Back-step, back-step, kick and kick -- back-step, back-step --

WHAT IS THAT GLINT OVER BY THE DOOR. The man freezes and stares as Ella sings on.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's got a bit of lag as she's looking at the screen in her hand. A delighted grin crosses her face and she shifts back and forth when Steve starts bobbing and turning, trying to emulate his natural rhythm with an up and down shimmy of her shoulders and hips. This motion serves to give her away and she finds Steve's video representation staring at her.

She looks up and /Steve/ is starting at her. "Eek!" she squeaks, and reflexively shrinks with a *pop* of decompressing air. There's a buzzing of wings as Janet tries to make a hasty exit with her cell phone still in her tiny hand.

Captain America has posed:
Steve's one quick son of a gun when he puts his mind to it. His muscles are already warmed up as is and so when he sees the sudden shrink and consequential disappearance of the incriminating cell phone, he's making to dart at the door with all the speed imbued to him by Erskine's serum.

He shoulders it open and exits out into the hallway, his hand blurring as he makes to grab at the zippy fashionista. "Janet -- Janet van Dyne!" he spits, eyes gone a little wide, as if torn between horror and embarrassed laughter. "You delete that video right now!"

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Watch it!" Janet shouts. Squeaks. It's high-pitched enough that only Steve would really hear her articulately without the radio unit she uses. The Wasp pitches and dives as she evades his nimble, grasping fingers. "You're gonna mess my wings up!"

She buzzes in spiralling circles and flees down the hallway with all the speed she can pour on. Mobility and agility give her an advantage over Cap and she flickers around the corner of the hallway, intent on disappearing into a vent or under a door.

There's a soft *thump* and then a louder, full-sized "Owie!" and a heavy thump as someone sits down heavily. When Steve rounds the corner, Janet's sitting on the ground and holding her head in her hands, eyes screwed shut and making some (slightly pathetic) whimpering noises. The window opposite her suggests the cause of the bump on her noggin.

"Why is that even *closed*?" she moans, rocking back and forth.

Captain America has posed:
And there goes Steve, hot on the wee Wasp's sprightly tail. It's impossible to keep up with her, at least by an arm's length or two, and he huffs as she disappears around the corner. He's got to slam on the brakes himself to avoid whacking off the opposite wall and does almost a sideways slide into view of the next stretch of hall, half-crouched.

Seeing Janet on the floor, however, punctures and deflates most of his indignition. Most of it. Still glowering, mostly now in sympathy, he walks over and drops down beside her to one knee. "It's winter. Why would we let the cold air in?" says the man who spent a couple decades as an icicle. Ew, cold. "You gonna delete that video or what?" Now Janet's privy to the unimpressed narrowing of his eyes, the one that tends to make the Avengers and SHIELD underlings squirm. Anything but disappointment from Steve Rogers?!

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet looks up at Steve and exhales at him in irritation, eyes narrowing instantly. "Gee, thanks Steve, I feel fine," the socialite tells him, a little peevishly. She's in black leggings and a yellow sweater long enough to nearly qualify as a tunic, belted around her waist with black patent leather. Low grey suede booties would give her just a little height advantage on her feet. "Such a gentleman." She rolls away (suppressing a wince) and forces herself to her feet. She collects her phone with one hand and keeps her palm pressed to her forehead. The phone is, notably, still locked, and she waggles it at Steve. "Why would I delete it?" she asks him, smugly. "It's *adorable*. Captain America, the dancer. I mean, they say everyone danced in the '40s, but I'm just so surprised *you* can dance," she says, with wide-eyed insincerity.

Captain America has posed:
Steve rises with her and loosely folds his arms. By the slight pull of his mouth to one side, he's not impressed with the behavior still. "You're fine," he mutters after being called a 'gentleman' in that particular tone. His brows flick up at her reasoning for keeping the footage even while his lid remain at half-mask, continuing to keep up that unamused mein.

"Back in the '40s, people respected other people's privacy and didn't go around telling the world that they watched Captain America have macaroni for lunch at some deli in Harlem while I was in a meeting with the Director at the Triskelion. It's...rude," he says, more succinctly. "And I can dance," the man then adds a touch defensively. "And properly dance too. Not any of this...arrhythmic jouncing, hip-thrusting bunk they call it these days."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"First, it's called being a millennial," Janet tells Steve, holding up a palm with an authoritative 'stop' combined with a side-bobbing 'nuh-uh' of her head. "Okay? Twitter is an important part of my cultural heritage and I'd appreciate you respecting it." Her tone's so serious that it becomes clearly hyperbolic, along with her entirely skeptical browlifting at the strapping solider.

"Secondly, this isn't really a 'private area'. If you want private dance lessons, I know the hottest costumer on Broadway. He'll get you backstage with some of the best dancers in the world."

"Third--" She goes to poke Steve in the chest, but instead lays a fingertip against his sternum and sashays pointedly closer, looking up at Steve through her lashes with the most fetchingly seductive-yet-innocent expression she can muster. "If you want to throw some shade at my dance moves, you better do it at the nightclub." She gets on her tiptoes, nose poking at his cheekbone. "And bring a fire extinguiisher, 'cause I will burn you down right on the floor," she says, in a throaty whisper.

Captain America has posed:
Steve's crossed arms tighten. Strapping indeed, how the posturing and the t-shirt showcases his build. By the time the explanation for the behavior hits the backstages of the NYC theatre scene, he's rolling his eyes to one side and slowly sighing, the epitome of the patient-to-a-point. He won't stoop to holding up a hand and mimicking a mouth, 'blah-blah-blah', but the temptation is there, deep in his psyche.

The rise of her hand telegraphs her intentions and he merely holds his ground, clearly expecting the standard dig of bony fingertip. However, it's a sudden Fast and Furious crank and turn of approach, so much that he's startled on grounds of unpredictability alone. His brows lift again and his mouth drops open a touch as she leans in -- aaahhh, to lean away or not?! No-no-no, no retreat, but that is -- and now she's whispering at him, what in the hell --

Steve finally does crane his head back in order to make eye contact and to scan her face. His throat bobbles as he closes his mouth, momentarily wordless. Then, he murmurs back in challenge, affecting an uncaring air, "You can try." By his insinuation, she's clearly going to fail at the attempt.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet rises on her toes to the limit of her ability to try and kiss Steve's cheek. This is the point where her flirty plan starts to come off the rails-- he's too tall. Her boots sport a relatively modest heel and Steve's towering and evening leaning back a little stiffly. She tries twice, exhales in frustration, and grabs his columnar neck for leverage. Janet hops a half-inch off the ground and kisses his cheekbone.

She lands neatly and backs up a half a pace. Hardly sparing Steve his space but at least breaking contact. "See, this is why I need to be in heels like... *all* the time. Entirely too many tall, good-looking men running around here out of lips range." She gives Steve a raking head-to-toe examination and then sighs happily for no particular reason.

Captain America has posed:
Bemused briefly by this repeated up-and-down attempt at...something, Steve finally realizes the intention a split-second before it happens. A kiss on the cheek from Janet isn't anything new -- it's the comment afterwards that rocks him just enough to showcase a faint pink on his cheeks.

"...right," he finally hazards, still trying to sound like none of this has him already suspicious. "Regardless of your 'dancing abilities'," and one can hear the air quotes about the words, "You still need to delete that footage, miss van Dyne. I did not give you permission to take it. You wanna record me dancing, you ask first."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet narrows her eyes at Steve's uncharacteristically forceful tone, and shifts her weight to hear rear foot so her lead shoulder points in Steve's direction. She musters all the dignity her petite frame can manage and gives him another up-and-down, though this one is more insulted than intrigued.

"Keep digging," she prompts him, chin wagging. Janet's face steels itself as she digs in for a fight. And then, abruptly, the mercurial socialite gets an idea that manifests as a sharp exhalation and she flings her arms around Steve's waist, looking up at him. "Welllllll, fair's fair," she concedes. "So I tell you what. You can record *me* dancing," she tells him. Fingernails tap a ladder up his spine and she beams up at him with no detectable intrigue in her expression. "You know. We could learn some swing together, or go hit up the dance club and I could show you how we do it upstate. Or... you know." Eyes drop and she dusts fingernails against his chest in lazy arcs, not *quite* making eye contact. "Any *other* kind of dancing you'd like to see."

Captain America has posed:
The Captain doesn't waver in his posture and by the set of his jaw, he's ready and raring to shove aside all the simpering and finally be rid of the incriminating video. Unfortunately, another sudden shift in direction has him off-balance yet again. He looks down at Janet in clear confusion. This does not seem like an even exchange, by his expression. The soldier clears his throat and tries to simultaneously ignore the dance of fingernails along his chest and regain his tattered dignity.

"Well, m'am, there's, uh -- the video I was watching is informational enough. He's, uh, accurate in the steps and I recognize most of them. You delete that video, you can be my follow when I practice," he offers, nodding his chin briskly. In his opinion, this is a fair exchange.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet gasps in surprised shock and looks up at Cap with an expression that's nearly literally starry-eyed. Eyes wide with surprise and happiness. She clasps her hands together atop his sternum and bounces on her toes twice. "You're going to teach me *swing dancing*? Oh, Steven!" She titters with a 'yaaaaay!' and flings her arms around him. Her feet pump in place in her own excited little dance. "How wonderful! I'd love to learn how to swing dance!"

She digs her phone out of her legging waistband and unlocks it, then turns in place so Steve can see her unlock the phone. She lazily pillows her head against his breastbone and taps the delete button with a fingertip, making the video vanish with an electronic *whoosh*. "There. Done and gone."

Captain America has posed:
Whew. Steve echoes the minor slump of relief with a sigh as he watches the video of himself working through the Charleston disappear with the touch of a button.

"Done and done," he then says with a firm nod. Looking down at Janet, he makes to take a half-step back and reclaim some of his personal space. His hand appears from his folded arms and brushes down his chest, as if to straighten his t-shirt and wipe away the lingering goosebumps from her fingernails earlier. "I dunno when I'm going to be practicing again, but you want me to...text you or something if I am? It won't be outside the mansion," he's certain to clarify.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet stumbles a little when Steve steps away but promptly rights herself. She gives him a bewildered expression, one that's even maybe a little hurt. But only for a second, because a blue blood like her is never hurt or embarassed, of course.

"Oh, uh... sure. I mean, whenever," she amends, nodding at him. "You know. I'm ... around. Or whatever. When you want to practice." A forced smile crosses her fine features. "Or like, you could walk over to my room, knock on the door, be all 'Hey, Janet!'" she says, miming busting in a door and waving jazz hands.

Captain America has posed:
"...you really want those jazz hands?" the man asks quietly, tilting his head to one side. He's not ignorant to the collapse of her happy-bubble and knows, in some way, that he's caused it. A faint cajoling smile curls one side of his mouth. "Because I dunno if I can do the jazz hands. I can come knock on the door though, that's no trial on my part." Steve shrugs, as if it's truly not when it will test his mettle to an extent more than he wants to let on. "You don't have to dress fancy either. Sweatpants and a t-shirt, but no heels. Flats, something that's a little slippery on the bottom but with still some grip," he explains.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet makes a noise like an 'error' buzzer and holds a palm up to stop Steve, her eyes flickering in irritation. "Steven, I *can* dance," she reminds him. "And in four-inch heels, when the occassion calls for it. I don't tell you how to do soldier stuff, you don't tell me how to dress myself," she says, peevishly.

"So, like... yeah. Whenever you're ready to, like, y'know, *deign* to teach me some dancing, I guess. ... you know where I'll be." She uplfits her chin, trying to push past her suddenly lame fencing. "In my room. Where ... I am. Unless I'm not."

Captain America has posed:
Steve thins his lips at the correction, but he doesn't tear off after that argument. One must pick one's battles and the fashionista does know her clothing.

"Alright, I'll come fetch you and if you wanna wear heels..." His mouths open and closes. He finally decides upon with a wry little flash of a dimple and a glance askance of her, "Your funeral. There are some fast turns -- but I promise not to give you whiplash," he reassures her. "I'm not looking to end up with you have a turned ankle or anything."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Oh, my *funeral*?" Janet says, her voice going throaty again but lacking any attempt at seduction. "So noted, *Captain*. I'll be ready in a bit. No time like the present, hmm?"

Janet disappears with a puft of displaced air and buzzes off to her room. For the next thirty minutes she's busy tearing through her virtually limitless wardrobe and the hundreds of outfits in storage thanks to her Pym particles.

When Steve texts her, Janet applies a few touches of makeup and heads down to the ballroom to meet him. There's the steady beat of old Big Band music, drums and horns and brass reverberating off the wall. She flits in on silent wings and lands behind Steve. Hips and shoulders roll opposite directions in a practiced modelling stance, and she blows a loud kiss at the back of Steve's head. When he turns, Janet smiles provocatively-- which goes nicely with her slip of a black halter-topped dress. The miniskirt's barely on the side of 'public decency' and her designer red leather booties pump her up at least four inches in height. A gold torc holds the fabric to her neck and a chain belt's around her slender waist. Both match the gold and diamonds at her earlobes. The cut of the outfit exposes her legs, arms to the shoulder, and her back from neck to waist. Dancing attire, maybe-- for someone going to Little Cuba.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," she purrs.

Her smirk seems to say: How's THAT for whiplash?

Captain America has posed:
"I -- " ...apparently don't get much of a say in this, Steve realizes even as he watches that minute blur disappear off down the hallway and around the corner. Blowing a sigh, he stands there, hands on his hips as he looks down at his toes. A toss of his shoulders and he decides to meander back to his room as well. If it's going to be a proper lesson, he's going to need proper shoes. It's the premise of the thing.

As Steve stands in the center of the mansion's small ballroom, big enough to host diplomats and a dinner if necessary, he frowns down at his phone. No reply from Janet. Is this the 'silent treatment' he's heard so much about? He's now wearing a black t-shirt and slacks in a big to at least keep up some semblance of organized fashion; after all, his spats, shined and monochromatic, do look the part. He flicks through his phone to the app connected to the speaker system here and the big band music in question is "Ain't That a Kick in the Head" courtesy of Dean Martin. But that sudden sound of a smooch? That's not good ol' Dean.

Steve pockets his phone even as he turns and his bemused expression rapidly shifts to unhelped surprise. His eyebrows clearly want to disappear into his hairline and his mouth hangs open visibly. A few blinks and he seems to come back to himself after a few seconds' betrayal of silence.

"Janet." Her name is a touch hollow and he clears his throat. "You look..." No, Steve, you're not allowed to say 'impractical'. "...very nice," he finishes gamely even as the tips of his ears redden.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet's shoulders sway in idle rotation and her left forearm rests across her lower back, grabbing her right elbow with a limber ease. "Very nice?" she inquires with am umbridged tone. It's gone in a flickering second and the mercurial fashionista laughs. She bounds over to Steve and uses his neck and shoulder as leverage to plant a fond kiss on his cheek.

"The spats are *very* dapper," she tells Steve, struggling hard to maintain a straight face. "And the slacks and t-shirt-- very Swayze."

She reaches for Steve's fingers and starts moving her feet in time with the music to encourage him to dance. She's actually got a decent sense of rhythm even if her footwork's not quite up to standard. "I should have guessed you're a Dean Martin fan. Who's that other guy-- he was in White Christmas. Right? But that was after the war," she says, hips swinging as she walks through some lazy pivots.

Captain America has posed:
Steve's tongue wets his lower lips as he scrambles to find something better to say, but he's saved by the fashionista's Fast and Furious swings of attention and her affectionate swish into his personal space. The kiss left on his cheek chills in the open air of the room -- or maybe it's the subtle heat to his face -- regardless, he tucks his chin at her approval to half-hide the brilliant if embarrassed grin.

"Thanks," is all he manages beyond the addition of, "Seemed appropriate." When Janet reaches for him, he lifts his hands in order to take her fingers gently in his upturned palms. He curls a light grip about them and rests each thumb on her knuckles as he maintains his frame. It's a thing of ease with his military background and leaves him not stiff, but composed by air. He too steps in time, a simple back-and-forth rather than leading into the East Coast rock-step. After all, he's got to get a feel for how Janet's own rhythm flows and...well...that's his excuse, at least, for still feeling off-kilter by the vision before him.

"Bing Crosby was in White Christmas, yeah. It's a playlist, we might hear some of his songs come up," Steve replies in regards to the music. He falls silent as he watches the Wasp move and then catches himself doing as such. "Well," he says, squaring his shoulders. "You wanna learn some basic steps or...right, we should start with the basic steps."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet moves on the end of Steve's fingertips like a kite battered by errant, unpredictable breezes. She has a natural grace and a little grounding in dance theory. But she tends to flicker like a flame instead of following his lead, sometimes trying to backlead him to follow along with her. Given *Steve's* dexterity and size, such incidents leave her invariably looking disconnected and imbalanced; she recovers and eventually, stops trying to haul him around the dance floor. Frequently she looks down at their feet to try and figure out what Steve's doing and hastily follow his footwork.

"You're no fun," she scolds him, the third time she breaks rhythm. "Most boys I dance with need to be hauled across the floor. Can't I just dance?" She tries to get his elbows to loosen up with a push-pull of slender fingers in her hands. Soft rhythm marks escape her lips, *ba-ba, ba-sh-ba* and she walks through a turn, unprompted. "It's an easy basic step, it's side, side, back square," she tells Steve. Almost instantly, she gets it backwards as she tries to declare her mastery thereof.

Captain America has posed:
It's all...frankly adorable, even with the glint of the torc and the way her heels accent the entire length of her body, short as she might be. Steve allows her the little shoves and flittering about even if his frame never breaks and finally, he can't help it. One dimple begins to show as he gives her an expectant look.

"For you, it's a step to the right, a step to the left, and then a rock step backwards on your right." The soldier drops her hands in order to execute a smart turn in place so his back is facing her. He watches over his shoulder as he repeats himself and executes the steps: right, left, rock-step, in time with Dean singing along about dark rooms and isn't everything just a kick in the head.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet follows Steve for a few counts after his turn, sincerely trying to match his rhythm. She's a quarter-beat behind him, but closing fast, and soon enough she's got the rhythm down and is moving along with exaggerated shifts of her weight and her head rocking left and right. "Wow, this really isn't anything like salsa," she points out.

After a few seconds, the scrape of her designer heels on the floor pauses, and she's staring at the ocean motion of Steve's rear as he continues his demonstration. Her weight rolls over her left hip. Her right leg goes straight, a model's line of poised muscle. The posture exaggerates the roundeur of her ... wasp-shaped frame, and her eyes stay glued on his ... hips.

"Nono, don't stop," she says, holding a hand up at Steve when he glances behind himself. "I've almost got it, I *swear*," she says, with all the sincerity she can muster.

Captain America has posed:
His inclination to slip back into his stoic mannerisms is shoved aside in light of the fact that this is, at least, partially entertaining to Steve, attempting to teach Janet to dance. The next song comes on, "Mister Sandman" by the Chordettes, and he continues the steps. His hands are left in frame, offered out to an invisible follow, but he does glance over his shoulder at the fashionista at her comment.

"You talk a big game for taking this long to catch on, Janet," says the man carelessly as he continues, his head turning back to face forwards again. "It's simple. Right, left, rock-step. This song's a little faster, but keep at it." He does as such, continuing to showcase the follow's basic step pattern for East Coast swing.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Oh, my god, all these numbers and counting," Janet remarks. Her eyes roll. "I'm just a scared girl from New York, unaccustomed to these fancy things. You'll have to pardon me," she tells Steve, affecting the subtle accents of Long Island blue-blooded aristocracy.

She reaches for Steve's hands and stares at their feet to catch the beat, then jumps into it. It takes her surprisingly little time to learn the basics of the new step and by the time the song's through the bridge, she's tugging impatiently on his hands again. "Okay, go faster now! This standing in place staring at each other thing is boring. I feel like I'm at an eighth-grade dance at a Christian school. 'Room for Jesus'," she quips. "Aren't there dips or spins or something you're supposed to do?"

Captain America has posed:
Steve turns about at her sass again and smirks. His hands extend to take hers once more and he replies lowly, "Not all of us were born with a sense of rhythm." He takes up the opposite stepping pattern -- left, right, back-step left -- and given their mirrored positions, it becomes an easy harmony in motion, down to the gentle rubberband-effect of politely-held hands. Steve's eyebrows climb again at her line of questioning.

"You wanna get into the fancy stuff already? Could teach you a turn, I guess. Underarm turn," he decides, still keeping at the brisk basic steps. "No flips yet, I think."

He does not add that he doesn't think the dress will stay put for a flip, much less a dip.

"Alright, I'm going to raise my left hand and..." The Captain goes through the explanation of the steps as he guides Janet under her own right arm before they both rock-step in swing-out position. Then, back to step one on the right and left and the basic once more. "Not bad," Steve hazards to comment with what could amount to be a pleased little smile, close-lipped as it is.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet obligingly follows through with Cap's lead. She steps under his arm, toes questing for purchase; hand over her head, free hand held at an angle near her torso for balance. The turn's done in one motion as she smoothly steps back into rhythm with Steve. "Hey! That wasn't so bad!" she remarks. The fashionista flashes a brilliant smile up at the super-soldier.

"This was, like, mandatory for you in high school, wasn't it?" she asks. A new song comes on and she stops moving, waiting for Steve to find a rhythm and start leading her again. "Everyone had to do it? Or is that just hype?" she asks, breaking into motion again once his feet start shuffling.

Captain America has posed:
"Depends on where you got your schooling," Steve explains as the next song comes on. Bing and the Andews Sisters bounce through the saga of broken windowshields and begging to put aside a handgun still loaded -- oh my. It's all full of brassy kicks and drums, perfect harmony from the Sisters and Bing's smooth voice wending throughout. "I didn't get the chance. Health wouldn't let me."

The reminder dims his eyes in passing, but he smiles and seems to buck back up shortly thereafter. "I learned some of it during the war, whether you'd believe it or not.". A shrug and he laughs once, his chin falling again. "The Commandos weren't going to let Captain America continue on with two left feet, not when he could punch a hole in a tank."

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"Of course. That'd be a national embarassment," Janet says with a laugh. "I wish more fellahs could dance, though!" she tells him. "Around here the best bet you've got is some of the clubs in the Latin district. Don't get me wrong, I love a good bump-and-grind," she assures him conspiratorially. "It's fun to get up and dance like this. I'll have to, like, take lessons or something. I mean, unless *you* want to teach me," she says pointedly.

She falls forward as the song ends, looping her arms around Steve's neck and falling sideways, hoping he'll catch her. It's either a lot of implicit trust or Janet's casual disregard for consequences as she drops into a dip, whether or not Steve leads her there.

Captain America has posed:
Oh god, a lead's worst nightmare: the suicide dip.

Sucking in a gasp through bared teeth, Steve's quick reflexes make for a catch before Janet's head bounces off the poolished wooden floor, hollow clunk and all. With his leg bent in something near to a lunge to aid in the cradling of left arm behind her bared shoulders and his right tucked around about her waist to palm her spine, the Captain freezes in place. Then, he closes his eyes and laughs once, almost a scoff.

"Warn a man next time you do intend to do that?" It seems rhetorical even as he opens his eyes again, maintaining the dip.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet tucks one knee up close in the dip in a leggy posture; if anyone was in the room BUT her and Steve, it'd be a bit of a show. She seems to have utter faith in her fellow Avenger though and smiles serenly the whole way down.

"Weren't you *just* bragging about being able to punch a hole in a tank?" she inquires. One of the hands around his shoulder slides up and fingernails rake through his hair with a fond, idle tousling. "Surely you can catch someone bitty as me in a dip," she teases him. "I have total faith in your ... prowess, you know," she assures him.

Captain America has posed:
"I appreciate your faith," replies Steve, still drily. The goosebumps that travel his skin at the subtle drag of fingernails are pointedly ignored as he carefully works them both to proper standing positions once again. It leaves him still cupping each of her elbows as he frowns.

"You gotta wait for the cue for a dip, Janet. Another man might've dropped you and that's bad news all around." By the set of his jaw, he does appear genuinely concerned at what could have been. The current state of his blond hair, however, in mild disarray from its tamed and lightly-gelled state, probably takes away from the overall serious air.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
Janet seems unwilling to let go of Steve's neck. Gravity does the work for him when he straightens up, and her choices are to either let go or dangle from him like a Flava Flav chest ornament. Her toes scrape the ground and with a disappointed noise she loosens her grip and slides along his chest until she's on the hardwood underfoot once more.

"I'll be careful next time," she promises Steve. She's no longer hanging from his neck but is still leaning heavily against him, one hand resting on a trapezius and her palm pressing against his sternum. She looks up at him coquettishly. "Thanks for the lesson, Steve. Anytime you want to go out dancing, just let me know, okay?"

Captain America has posed:
There is no missing Janet in her current state, what with her balance poised against him as is. The soldier's chest rises and falls beneath the spread of her hands. He's warm to the touch beneath the thin shirt he wears. Up this close, he wears a cologne that while present, manages not to be a slap in the face.

"You're welcome, Janet. Remember, what you call dancing is arrhythmic bunk," he replies softly even as he suddenly showcases both dimples. "I'm not gonna just trot out there and...break it down like I see folks do." The wicked teasing streak surfaces and disappears nearly as fast as it came, though a twinkle still lingers in his eyes.

Wasp (van Dyne) has posed:
"No, what *you* call dancing is basically a warm glass of milk," Janet murmurs back at Steve. Fingernails one-two walk up his sternum and she touches his cheek. "What *I* call dancing will *give* you an arrhythmia. Old man," she tells him. She rises up on tippy-toes to kiss the edge of his jaw and take the sting out of her words.

She lands on her heels and smirks up at him, and the fingers on his cheek push playfully on his rawboned features with a long push too gentle to be a 'slap'. She propels herself off of him to start a lazily confident stride towards the door.

"G'nite, soldier man," she sings over her shoulder, and slips out of the doorway like royalty breezing towards her quarters, without a care in the world.

Once she's in her room she shuts the door, rests her shoulderblades against it, and flaps out her dress with a sagging expression of heated discomfort.

"Stupid Steve with his stupid cologne and his... stupid ... butt," she grumbles, and kicks her shoes off. Barefoot she mixes herself a drink over her bureau drawers, ice and soda clattering before she adds a healthy few drams of rum to it.

"Now a *cold* shower," she mumbles, and heads to her suite's bathroom for precisely that!

Captain America has posed:
Oh, how he tries to remain cool, but those malleable eyebrows give him away as they might regularly do. They creep up visibly. Steve blinks down at the Wasp and receives the peck to his jawline with a blink-blink of broken spell. A soft scoff is about all he can dredge up because 'yeah okay, young lady' just doesn't seem appropriate.

His eyes do follow the fashionista as she departs and he belatedly raises his hand in farewell a half-second too late to cover the way he was considering the possibility of salsa lessons. Hate to see her go, but love to watch her leave? Isn't that how that one country song goes? Once he's certain she's gone, he collapses at the waist to rest both hands on his thights and blows a hard sigh, letting his head drop.

"Good job, Rogers, real eloquent," he chides himself under his breath for the earlier huff. He then straightens yet again and reaches to his pants pocket. The music is killed with the push of a button on his retrieved phone and then the Captain too departs from the ballroom, headed for his personal shower (free of Wade). No doubt it will be cooler than usual as well.