One Dance

6| His Hand

Notes: I hope y'all had a great Vday yesterday! I know I did 🦀

So um, please don't get upset at me for what happens from this point further. 🌝

_______________________

"Prepare to be amazed!" Kirishima beamed from where he sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, fist pumping the air. Bakugou clicked his tongue, dawdling towards the wall to lean against it while Kirishima padded towards. Mina tied her sweater around her hips. Kirishima buzzed at his reflection in the mirror until eventually, Mina stooped down to play the song off her phone. Kirishima seemed to know the lyrics, which were... Spanish? When the fuck did he learn Spanish when he hardly had a firm linguistic grip on English. Bakugou hadn't the time to ask, because not only was he distracted by the hand on Mina's hip (which could easily be his hip after tonight), but the beat of the song picked up with sprinkles of a Latin melody that made the Spanish spewing from Kirishima's mouth earlier make much more sense.

Bakugou was no stranger to social dancing. He himself was forced to learn some of the shit by his parents for their more formal parties, which meant boring, old-timey dances like the waltz and foxtrot. Latin dance was the foreign, unmarked territory he'd never had a chance to sniff around until recently—that is, if that stupid Just Dance game counted his performance to Despacito as popping his Latin dancing cherry. One could argue that was just a game, practice even. Whatever those two idiots were doing with their hips and their feet and shit was the real deal. Advanced shit. Shit that if they asked him to do it, he could try, and then fuss about how shitty it is until he fucking masters it and outperforms them both. His brain rubbed its grimy little hands together. Denki did suggest he take risks, right?

"Teach me this shit," Bakugou demanded as soon as the song came to a close. He almost regretted it as soon as he said it, but the gleam in Kiri's eye and the way he excitedly gnawed his bottom lip overshadowed his internal, well, everything.

"Man, what? Do you know how long that would take?" Bakugou's attention went to Mina. Right, he thought, she's here too. Why did someone always have to invade his time with Kirishima?

"Mina, please!" Kiri begged, even going as far as pathetically getting down on his knees with his hands clasped under his chin. Mina crossed one arm over the other, twitching her nose as she scowled. It was a battle of will—whether or not Mina could resist Kirishima's puppy eyes—and she was losing.

"Fine! But since you made the moves, you teach him."

The exchange was short-lived and slightly one-sided, but her approval made Kirishima stupidly happy nonetheless, and Bakugou nearly forgot gravity existed when a firm hand grabbed his wrist, dragging him to the center of the floor. For his sake, they practiced without music first, showing him the basics of the meringue or cha-cha or whatever they based part of the choreography on. He (unfortunately) practiced with Mina first before graduating to Kirishima himself, who took over the rest of the teaching from there. It was ironic, really, him being taught something by Kirishima of all people. He'd been so used to being the one teaching the redhead, screaming at him when he got something wrong and literally beating information into his hard head with a rolled up workbook. Kirishima wasn't nearly as rugged; he was patient and energetic despite it being almost midnight. His tender teaching made Bakugou's insides liquify, and he found his hands to be clammier than usual. Rubbing nitroglycerin into his joggers probably wasn't a good idea in the long run, but shit, his nerves just weren't on his side for once. Or maybe they were just as excited as he was. Who knows? Hell, at least he'd smell fucking great by the end of the night.