Wedding Dance Warmup

Charlotte and Melissa stumble in from the rain looking like drowned cats in matching white lace, armbands still pinned to their sleeves. They kiss the way people do when they want to remember they’re on the same side. Turns out they came home early because some idiot at the hall pushed the wrong panel and turned the sprinkler system into a makeshift shower. “Happily ever after, slightly soggy,” Melissa mutters against Charlotte’s mouth. Turns out they’d missed the whole fairytale once already. First time around it was papers at city hall and pizza after, no slow songs, no reception. Charlotte confesses she still wants the middle-school-dance moment, Melissa in her arms, music drifting, rings catching the light. Melissa looks at the living-room rug like it just insulted her honor, then hits play on her phone. The opening notes of something soft and croony fill the kitchen. Charlotte rolls her eyes. “We’re puddles.” Melissa pulls her in anyway, barefoot on damp hardwood. “A first dance delayed is still a first dance.” They sway. Nothing fancy. Just two women rocking slow, cheek to cheek, straps slipping. Charlotte murmurs how proud she is; Melissa answers that she’d marry her again in a dumpster if the bride came with it. Hands start to wander, because slow songs and loving words get bodies warm. Melissa’s palm cups Charlotte’s ass; a thumb slides under lace, lazy, possessive. Charlotte presses back, thighs easing apart so Melissa’s knee can fit between. The song keeps playing like it doesn’t know what’s next. Melissa tastes rain on Charlotte’s throat, then lower, until both dresses hang off one shoulder each. They never make it upstairs. Instead they settle onto the couch cushions still warm from sunshine, tongues meeting, fingers slick. Soft teasing turns to steady grinding, Charlotte breathing small, eager sounds every time Melissa curls inside her. Melissa follows with kisses planted across hipbones, slower, wetter, until Charlotte pulls her up, wraps legs around her waist, and they slide together like they’ve got all night. At one point Melissa laughs against Charlotte’s ear—“I still owe you a garter toss”—then nips the lobe, hips never stopping. They come on mismatched cushions, one right after the other, while the last drips of sprinkler water dry on their skin and the song loops again, waiting its turn.