Lead & Follow

Pirouette*

Part 1: Lead

Twelfth Movement, Pirouette

Pirouette

pir·ou·ette

/ˌpirəˈwet/

nounBALLET

an act of spinning on one foot, typically with the raised foot touching the knee of the supporting leg.

🖤🤍

-x-x-x-x-

[Author's Note: Okay, I have four things to mention.]

This story will eventually contain smut/s*xual situations.

These kinds of chapters will be indicated by an asterisk at the end of the Chapter Titles, i.e. "Pirouette*" Additionally, for full on debauchery, I'll give an extra notice before the segment.

I'm an avid writer when it comes to romantic fanfics, but I'm a novice when it comes to smut. Please be patient with me if it sucks. 😅

This chapter isn't scandalous, but it does contain some steamy moments. Therefore, I thought an asterisk and a gentle warning would be appropriate for those who wish not to engage in mature content or inappropriate themes, whatever the reason. In my opinion, if smut were 100% juice, this chapter is La Croix. Nevertheless, I thought I'd make it known ahead of time.

  The way the female lead spins about the room, delivering her monologues to the audience with a fanciful timbre feels more like a musical than a skit . Her movements are eloquent, and her voice lilting as she surges through the dialogue. It's an effective delivery because you almost forget yourself as a member of the audience rather than a nosy onlooker upon a private moment.

 -x-x-x-x-

The interior of the room you're in is so convincing that it's hard to tell you're not seated at a real bar. The man behind the counter takes your order skillfully, and with the precise level of loquaciousness that one might expect from a seasoned bartender.

However , when you and your date order drinks–a Baby Bellini for Baxter and a Virgin Margarita for yourself–they distinctly arrive from a small, nondescript corner of the room. 

The Bartender is, in fact, in on it. He's a character caught up in a will-they-won't-they- when -will-they trope with the beautiful female lead, and though their scripted misunderstandings are frustrating to witness, they're still fun.

Because you and Baxter have elected to participate via special necklaces–and probably because you look like extras when you stick out in the audience, a couple of cuties dressed to the nines–you sometimes find yourself involved with the plot too.

"They're," you swallow thickly; the myriad of curious eyes upon your quivering form makes you nervous. "They're from the bartender ."

The Female Lead looks a little skeptical as she takes the hefty vase of fresh flowers from you at the behest of you and her well-deserved best friend in blue.