Title: The Thing About the Gay Love
Fandom: So You Think You Can Dance
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything these people. I don’t think they did any of these things. This is made-up.
A/N: I’ll be at firstname.lastname@example.org should you like to comment.
If Lacey had believed that such a thing was possible, she might have allowed for the extremely unlikely likelihood that gay love could take root and spread. But, if she had had a taste of gay love – as futile as such a thing might have been – there was no way it could just so have happened that, instead of passing through the experience unharmed, she instead emerged a changed woman. Especially not one who checked out other women.
Because honestly, that wouldn’t make much sense.
She’d known that Danny was gay. Surely she had, or at least she liked to think she had, because when it became completely obvious to her that Danny was gay, she was not caught unawares. She had not developed a monumental crush on him, had not nurtured it through valiant efforts at flirting and coolness.
Nope, none of those things.
Instead, she’d known all along that what she was feeling was more of a platonic kind of admiration, the kind you get when you greatly appreciate someone – their sense of style, their bright and beautiful smile, the flawless perfection of their dancing, their wry sense of humor, their well defined biceps and finely sculpted abs. That was all it had been.
She had not, not in any sense of the word, fallen just a tiny bit in love with a gay man.
And if this very platonic admiration somehow mutated and spread like something out of a science fiction movie? Well, that would be extremely perplexing and totally unrealistic, right?
She would allow that some of it might be understandable. After all, Anya was a latin dancer. They had that in common, Lacey reasoned, and so it made complete sense that she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the other girl whenever she was in motion. Or sitting still. Or whatever. It was professional appreciation. Same with Faina. Really.
And she most definitely did not have any dreams about the three of them somehow getting locked together in a dance studio so hot it necessitated the removal of clothing (though if such a situation were to exist, she was sure that removal of clothing would be the appropriate response to an excessive amount of heat in an enclosed space). But, if such a thing were to occur and there happened to be a continuous loop of sensuous latin music playing in the background, it would only make sense that they would dance. After all, the room was locked. They were dancers, and there would be no way to gauge how long it might be before rescuers would arrive. What better way to pass the time than with a little samba? Maybe a salsa, even. Perhaps a paso doble if they felt adventurous.
At no time during this enforced period of hot, sweaty latin dancing would any untoward touching occur. That would be completely inappropriate and unprofessional, even if the idea of watching a scantily clad Anya and an equally scantily clad Faina make out, bodies glistening in the bright studio lighting… Well, she’d never dreamed such a thing so there was no way she could have any idea about how that might make her feel, right?
And, she’d most certainly never want to join in.
Another thing she’d never thought about? (Not that she’d thought about the last thing or dreamed it – she’d done neither of those things.)
Hip-hop lessons with Sara.
She’d absolutely never considered what it might feel like to have Sara’s hands on her body. Guiding her through the motions of a routine, sliding down her spine to illustrate the fluid nature of a particular move, or as she stood behind her and pressed tightly into her as she used her own body to illustrate the sharp pop of the hip-hop motion – Lacey had just simply never had such a thought creep its way into her mind.
Of course, hip-hop wasn’t her genre and should such an instance ever come to pass, she would certainly need a lot of hands-on instruction. It might even necessitate the recruitment of another teacher and since hip-hop dancer Lauren was so conveniently handy, she might agree to help. With Sara behind her, one hand on her hip and another wrapped around her waist and Lauren in front of her, fingers burying deeply in Lacey’s hair while she illustrated a particularly tricky head motion, face only inches from Lacey’s own in order to later provide the best possible critique…
No. Such a thought had never even entered the realm of her possibility. And, even if something like that did happen? It totally wouldn’t be that hot.
Nor had she entertained any notions involving Jessi and the bottle of baby oil the other girl had brought with her from auditions.
She just… no. She just hadn’t.