Wedding Dance Warmup

They kick their heels off in the hall. Hair pinned for vows still holds its shape. The dress zippers half-undone, fabric clinging damp from street sprinklers. “At least we tried,” Melissa says, kissing Charlotte’s wet knuckles. Charlotte presses her forehead to her wife’s shoulder. Their first ceremony had been small, rushed, all they could afford. The dance that mattered never happened. Melissa lifts her chin. “We can have it right here.” She pulls Charlotte into the living room, thumb tracing the side of her jaw. Slow phone music begins. Bodies close enough that soaked satin transfers its chill. Charlotte starts to laugh at the idea, but the laugh dies when Melissa’s hand slides to her waist. They sway together, barely stepping, breath moving in the same measured rhythm. “Mrs. Stratton-Sins,” Melissa whispers. Charlotte answers with the crook of her neck, open. Heat builds between them. Fabric feels thicker, breathing heavier. Melissa’s palm rises from the small of Charlotte’s back and covers one breast. Fingers circle until the nipple tightens through satin. Charlotte’s hips drift forward, searching, answering. She arches into the touch, a soft gasp parting her lips. Melissa smiles against her throat, kneads a second time, bolder. Charlotte slips her fingers under Melissa’s dress, finds bare skin, a line of heat. Their mouths meet, deliberate, tongues slow. Fabric whispers down shoulders. Two wedding dresses pool where they stand. They leave a trail of stockings, pins, and perfume as they move toward the bedroom without hurry.