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justapurrcat · 2 years

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Tiptoeing Around Your Heart | t.s.h.

Pairing: Tom Holland x fem!ballet dancer!reader

Synopsis: A secret ballet audition brings together a former Billy Elliot and a (possible) future Giselle. What could go wrong?

Word Count: 3.840k

Warnings: English not being my first language, me writing about ballet while not being a dancer, mutual pining but they’re both just idiots.

Tom Holland Masterlist

General Masterlist

A/n: I usually don’t take requests, but I just couldn’t resist this one:

“can you do a fic where tom helps y/n train for her ballet audition”

You could consider this an offspring of Giselle, sweet Giselle and this other cute little jewel both by the lovely @thollandsdarling (I don’t know if this ask was actually addressed to her, honestly, but Mags, if you wanna write it too, I would absolutely love to read your own version of it 💜).

“Remind me again why you asked me to help you out with this”, Tom sighed in fake irritation as he stretched his arms. At first, he had tried to keep up with your exercises, but after seeing all of the crazy bending they involved, he had quickly given up.

After all, he was only supposed to give you a hand, which probably meant holding your waist while you were doing pirouettes and simple things like that, so he had opted for a lighter warm-up.

Fuck, he hadn’t felt that similar to a piece of wood ever since that day he was getting ready to shoot a sequence with Willem Defoe, but in the humiliating tragedy – okay, maybe he was exaggerating a little – he had discovered a silver lining to it. Not doing much meant he could look at you more, and look at you more he did.

The way you moved was nothing short of entrancing, your flexible body conveying both gracefulness and strength, every muscle being perfectly under control, allowing you and your flawless lines to paint an invisible, yet mesmerising art in the air, your limbs shaping themselves like you had no sharp angles whatsoever.

You didn’t even know it, but God, you practically had him wrapped around your finger. And he was going to lose his mind when you would actually start dancing. Just like he did whenever he showed up to your shows. Always in the front row, of course.

Hand on the barre, you leaned back, grinning at him from upside-down when he entered your field of vision. “Because I need to try some steps with a partner”, you told him, not a trace of struggle in your voice, as if you were sipping a cup of tea.

Tom was one of the two people knowing about this audition, the other being your dance teacher who had suggested you’d give it a try. Consequently, that made him the only person you had told. The only person with whom you had shared that information.

Unless it was necessary, you had never been keen on telling people about something important until it was done. Exams, medical visits, auditions… all things that already tended to put a lot of pressure on you. Having the responsibility of people’s expectations weighing on your shoulders would only stress you further.

You hated it, because it could make you sound ungrateful, but even having them cheering for you would cause you to get anxious, the fear of disappointing them clinging to you like an enthusiasm-sucking parasite. So, you preferred to deliver the news after everything was over, negative feelings taken off.

With Tom, though… with Tom it was different. Everything was different.

At the risk of sounding melodramatic, you would’ve entrusted him with your life. Yet there you were, able to tell him everything but the things you were dying to confess.

“Plus, revising a bit of ballet wouldn’t kill you”, you added with a shrug, trying to shake those feelings off of you as you straightened your back in one fluid motion.

Read the room, y/n. Read the fucking ballet room.

You moved away from the barre, going to sit on the floor and Tom pretended to scoff and roll his eyes when you looked at him, earning a little chuckle from you. But in reality, he almost couldn’t tear his gaze from you. His teacher had told him once that a good dancer can be recognized even from the way they walk on stage and bloody hell was your walk fucking amazing. The elegant sway of your hips, the muscles of your back… he was on the verge of drooling like a Saint Bernard.

Tom shook his head, mentally slapping himself and decided it was the moment for a pause. He knelt down, reaching for his backpack to grab his bottle of water, but the damn mirror wasn’t going to give him a break.

He had his back turned to you, and it was the same for you, but he still witnessed every single moment of it. With his throat running dry, he watched you lay down on your back, holding your legs up and then slowly parting them. And you didn’t stop, no, you kept going and going, until they were literally touching the floor.

Holy shit, how could you even open your legs like that? And why the fuck was it so easy for Tom to imagine himself between them, hovering over you to brush his lips over yours, as his hands caressed your inner thighs, teasingly getting closer and closer to your–no. No, no, no, no, no.

He had to think of something else. He needed to.

“First of all, fuck you”, he said without thinking, the words leaving his mouth probably surprising him more than you. But oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. “Second of all, fuck you.”

You sat up, turning around and locking gazes with his reflection, a silent question shaping itself in your raised eyebrows.

Tom pouted like a baby, letting go of his water – he wasn’t really that thirsty, it was more… metaphorical – and standing up, finally facing you. “I’ve never been able to stretch like that, not even in my Billy Elliot days of glory”, he clarified.

You got up as well, flashing him an amused expression. “Relax, movie-star: you won’t have to do much”, you replied, your light-hearted tone carrying a sweet note of reassurance. “Just watch and tell me if it looks good to you.”

“And what about the couple steps?”, he wondered, tilting his head to the side a bit. To be blatantly honest, that was the part he looked forward to the most. He absolutely adored seeing you dance, you were a literal joy for the eyes. But being your partner, he would’ve had the occasion to hold you close, to be loved by you, even if it was just pretense…

“I just need you to help me with my balance and to move me around a bit”, you explained, barely holding back a dreamy sigh at the image of you, nestled in his strong arms, that flashed through your mind due to your own sentence…

“I’ll do the rest”, you continued, dismissing it immediately. “And if you’re comfortable we can try a couple of lifts. Not complicated stuff, we’re not taking risks.”

Tom nodded along, understanding what you meant with that. It wasn’t that you didn’t think he could be capable of lifting you, because he was, but despite his classical training, he had little to no experience as a porteur, and had things gone wrong, he could’ve injured himself. “Mh. I can do it.”

“Great, come here”, you invited, beckoning him closer and then guiding him towards the centre of the room. “Let’s try this with no music, and while I’m still not sweaty.”

“Charming”, he commented, winking at you, completely ignorant that your heart skipped a beat at that simple action, and you simply smiled and glanced at the ceiling, forcing out a little breathy laugh, no witty comeback coming in your favour.

But now you couldn’t have time for that. Now it was the moment to concentrate. So you cleared your throat and switched to your professional instructor mode, explaining to your partner the steps, the context, the story, the meaning behind each gesture, even the tiniest details of the little fragment you were going to practise. It was only a minute, literally nothing when compared to the full ballet, but it was a dense one – at least for the performer of Giselle –, almost entirely on pointe, and it contained one of your favourite bits, right in the first few seconds.

Tom listened to you religiously, like the most attentive student, the smug spark in his eyes now totally vanished, replaced by a stubborn determination. He wasn’t gonna let you down. When he gave you the green light and a thumbs up, you took a few steps back, getting ready to start, to let Giselle take over.

“Five, six, seven, eight…”

You made your way towards him and he did the same, your right hands reaching out and intertwining with each other, being held against your chests, as you went on point and rested your head on his shoulder, your free arms wrapping around the other’s body in a tender embrace.

With your hand above his heart, Tom’s eyes fluttered shut, and he breathed in your delicate scent of lilies and jasmine, savouring the feeling of completeness your presence in his arms gave him.

However, the ballet told a precise story, and this was nothing but a sweet, wistful moment, a glimpse of calm the two lovers had managed to rip from the unforgiving course of time… and it wasn’t destined to last. For that reason, after an instant Tom unwillingly took a step back, and that was your cue.

You slowly lifted your leg, compensating it by leaning back with your torso, your hand secured in his being the sole support for your balance.

There it was: this, along with the hug, was your favourite part. It wasn’t particularly complicated, but you liked the idea of the joined hands being the centre of it all, like both Giselle and Albrecht were combining their pleas, pouring them in an affectionate touch. There could be so much behind an apparently insignificant thing and it fascinated you beyond words.

Tom didn’t flinch. Not even a little, no matter how violently the fear of messing up was flooding his veins with liquid ice.

When you came back from it, you turned around, still standing on one leg, and he was there to support you, firmly grabbing your waist with one hand, just like you had told him.

There was not much left for him to do, the next steps involving you arching your back and then leaning forward, your raised leg coming to form a perfect continuous line with the one you were supporting yourself on. So, he simply took you in in all your melancholic glory, as your upper body ondulated so effortlessly, reminding him of flowers being caressed by the breeze.

When you stood straight again, on two feet again – even if not for long – Tom’s free hand joined the other around your waist, and he gingerly helped you turn around, handling you with such attention and care that it felt like a soft cuddle.

In the middle of that motion, you switched your supporting leg, and proceeded to bend forward once again, only with a subtle variation to it. Now, your pose resembled the one you would’ve adopted while executing a gran jeté, only it was like you had been frozen in the middle of the jump and rotated in vertical, with Tom holding you up and moving you like you were a little figure spinning inside of a silent music box.

You stood up as he came to a halt, but then immediately leaned forward again, you were trying to reach out, sheltering yourself in another, this time invisible, hug. And then, Tom began walking backwards, and you had no choice but to stand you up and abandon yourself to him, following his lead like it was the most natural thing ever – like the two of you had been carved into existence to dance with each other –, your little tiptoe steps keeping up with his strides until he stopped.

The segment was approaching its conclusion. Still keeping a hand around your waist, Tom mimicked your movement as you raised an arm and slightly arched your back. That transitioned in you repeating the position from before, once again as if you were yearning to hold something that no longer existed if not in your memory.

And so it ended, with Tom definitely pulling you onto your feet and restoring your balance, his chest almost touching your back, his breath tickling the nape of your neck, sending a million little shivers all over your body and causing your skin to tingle with an excitement you found very difficult to contain.

You had been dancing to silence, but now that everything had stopped, it felt like it had been increased tenfold, the soft echoes of your mixed breathings resonating in that empty room like whispers in a sacred place.

It felt… intimate. Nothing had ever felt that intimate.

The two of you had even happened to share a bed several times, often waking up in the most absurd postures – and most of it was Tom’s doing, since you tended to remain quite still while sleeping, while he was more on the chaotic, restless side –, to the point where it could no longer embarrass you.

Yet there you were, doing nothing, but still being shaken to the core by it.

“A-and next you should lift me, so we can end it here”, you told him, attempting to come out of that impasse. You found the courage to look at his reflection in the mirror, only to discover that he was already staring at you, his bewitching signature puppy eyes digging a hole in your heart. You wanted to compliment him, to thank him for his kindness and patience, but not a sound dared to come out of your parted lips.

Little did you know that it was taking Tom everything in his power not to gently hold your chin between his fingers, carefully turn your head and kiss your breath away. His whole being was begging him to give it a try, to take that final step that terrified him so much, to finally open his heart and soul to the enrapturing creature in his arms, leaving her with the choice to tear it to pieces, or to cherish it like the most priceless treasure.

With a puzzling defeated sigh, he let go of you, his hands curiously lingering on your waist a little longer than necessary…

“Did I do things right?”, Tom asked you once you’d turned around. He gulped, looking like a child waiting for his parents to scold him. Sure, he had done his best, but what if he had made mistakes without noticing? What if you had noticed – what the Hell was he thinking, it went without saying, that you had – them? What if he had made a fool of himself? What if he had made you uncomfortable?

You were tempted to cup his face and kiss the tip of his nose, instantly – and quite reluctantly – deciding against it. It would’ve been weird, especially after that awkward… whatever that was. “You were perfect, Tom.”

The loveliest shade of bright pink coated his cheeks and ears. You loved it when it happened. “Oh come on”, he coyly dismissed that, scratching the back of his hair. “You were the one doing everything. I was merely a pivot.”

“An extremely essential and well-versed pivot”, you insisted, and despite your joking tone, you truly meant it: he had been more attentive and considerate at his first try than many of your other partners after dozens of lessons. Without a complaint, he had followed you smoothly, as if you had been rehearsing that segment for months.

But it wasn’t just that: Tom had a natural talent, something a person simply couldn’t learn. He had been away from ballet for so long, all of his filming projects literally changing his life, asking him to train and shape his body differently… and sometimes you found yourself wishing he would’ve continued dancing, instead of pursuing an acting career.

You wished he would’ve stayed.

It was selfish, dreaming of stealing him away from Hollywood – the same way that glamourous world had stolen him from you –, just to be able to hold his hand on a stage, to tell the most wonderful stories through the harmonic synch of your bodies, to live a hundred different lives by his side, changing while remaining the same…

It was selfish, and you hated yourself for it, but it would’ve been so beautiful…

“Shut up”, Tom downplayed your compliment, but a smile still crawled its way to his lips: you seemed satisfied, happy even, and that was all he wished for. “You know, I kinda felt like a thief, watching you for free”, he confessed.

You tapped your chin, pretending to actually consider it. “Well, I’m not opposed to getting paid…”, you told him, nonchalantly raising your hand, palm upwards, but he dramatically pushed it out of the way.

“I said kinda”, he argued, his voice coming out in an outraged gasp, while his free hand flying up to his chest.

You returned the blow, playfully smacking his arm. “Stingy.”

Tom winked at you, showing you his middle finger and you chuckled at the silly way he wiggled his eyebrows.

“No, but jokes aside…”, he spoke after a while – because he had lost himself in the sweet sound of your laugh like a proper idiot –, returning serious. “You were amazing, y/n. I mean it.”

“Thank you”, you murmured softly, heat blooming on your cheeks and spreading across your face, neck and ears. And then you gave him a smile and it felt like a spotlight being directed right into his eyes with no remorse whatsoever.

“Uhm…” Undergoing the titanic effort not to let his jaw drop to the floor, Tom did his best to appear unfazed, neutral, keeping himself together like a pro. But on the inside, he was screaming like a banshee.

“So… this guy who might play the Albrecht dude…”, he mentioned, realising too late what he had done. Being so desperate to fill the silence and change the topic, he had chosen the one he had been trying to ignore ever since you had told him the story of Giselle.

Your partners had always been a taboo in your conversations, with an honourable mention to Mike, who had kissed you in Romeo and Juliet – Harry and Sam had teased him for an entire week after witnessing it happen in the show. Tom despised Mike like few other things…

Not that he had ever actively manifested his annoyance while talking about it, though, of course: it was your job and, sadly, you weren’t together. And even if, by chance or miracle, you had been, he was well aware he wouldn’t have had any right to say something about the situation.

So he would swallow the bitter pill and support you through it all, because that was what friends did, and your happiness and well-being came first for him.

But for some reason, you would never tell him about any of those guys. Every time the two of you talked, you seemed to forget them… and he certainly wasn’t complaining. Because deep down, and he knew it was extremely wrong, but he couldn’t help it: he was jealous.

“He’s…”, Tom trailed off, desperately looking for something, anything to say. “… tall, huh?”

Yeah, sure, go with the height, Tom, he scolded himself, wanting to kick his brain. Great plan, genius.

“You mean Will?”, you wondered, blinking repeatedly, confused by the unexpected question. When he didn’t answer, you took it as a yes. “Uh, yeah, kind of”, you mumbled, feeling incredibly awkward. “He’s like 6ft 5’ or around that. Maybe more.” And now you were just being unsensitive, what the fuck was wrong with you?!

“To be honest, I’m afraid I’ll look like a dwarf next to him”, you added, hoping it would somehow fix the mess caused by what was by no doubt sounding like a bunch of nonsense to his ears.

“Then they shouldn’t hire him”, he muttered dryly.

“Tom!”

“What? I want you to look good on stage”, he justified himself, raising his hands like they were proof of the lack of malice in his thoughts.

And, most importantly, not dancing in the arms of a muscular giant. He bit his tongue not to add that. I can be your muscular not-giant. I can get even more muscular if you want me… okay, now he was getting pathetic.

“And…” He bit the inside of his cheek, cringing at what he was about to ask you. “Do you have to kiss or…?” It might have sounded stupid, but it wasn’t. He was here to offer you his help, right? You could’ve used a hand to rehearse that scene as well…

Several different questions cluttered your mind. Why was he asking about this? Why was he so interested in what you and Will were going to do? Why did he want to know? What did he want to know?

“Uh… no”, you denied, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “No kisses in this production.”

Tom didn’t even bother to mask his disappointment. “Isn’t it a love story?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“But no kiss.”

“She keeps him alive until morning despite him being the reason behind her death…”, you countered, not quite feeling the need for a kissing scene. And not particularly looking forward to sharing it with Will, either. “I think that’s pretty close.”

Tom looked at you in an indecipherable way, his lips pressing themselves into a thin line, his eyes running over your features. “Yeah, I guess…”, he agreed unconvincingly. And there went his chance.

His reaction left you with an uneasy burden on your shoulders and a bitter taste lingering in your mouth. Was this his friendly, kind tentative to drop a subtle hint about the fact that you had been so pathetically alone for so long that even the unusual suggestion of requesting to add a kiss on stage seemed like an ideal solution?

It had to be. You had no other explanation for it.

“I can always ask, though”, you offered weakly.

“Yeah, you should”, Tom confirmed with an energetic nod, the blow that finally knocked you out for good.

You didn’t say anything, head sinking between your shoulders as your defeated gaze dropped to the ground.

And because of that you didn’t see the way his eyes went round, growing twice their size, as he became fully aware of his own statement.

Holy shit, he was literally encouraging you to go and kiss another guy!

“No. You shouldn’t”, he frantically rushed to correct himself, causing your head to snap up just as quickly, that incorregible glimpse of hope always ready to be restored by the tiniest resemblance of a clue…

“It would be unprofessional”, he articulated seriously, praying to all of the Saints he remembered that his reasoning would convince you. That he would convince you. “Like, awfully unprofessional. Beyond words unprofessional”, he stressed out. “If it’s not in this production, you shouldn’t.”

Sure, Tom was talking about work, yet you couldn’t help a feeling of relief flourishing in your chest. “Yeah, you’re right, I shouldn’t.”

“You definitely shouldn’t”, he repeated to further reinforce the concept. But he committed the fatal mistake of letting his guard down, giving your warm smile full access to his vulnerability.

His next words took advantage of that, slipping past his lips before he could process them. Let alone stop them. “Could we kiss, though?”

“What?”

A/n: I know, it sucks, but I had to write it... to whoever requested this, I hope it didn’t disappoint you that much, and thank you for sending the ask! 💜

If you’re interested, here you can find the version of the Giselle pas de deux that I used as reference (the part Tom and y/n rehearsed starts at 2:36 and ends at 3:38). The way I described it doesn’t make it justice, but it’s really worth a watch!

Taglist: @thollandsdarling @hunnybunimdun @namoreno @nocturnalms @vendettaparker @wildxwidow @mn-jun @thisisparadisemylove @belovedholland @blankspaceblankday @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @mrparkerwillseeyounow @indouloureux @hemlockhearts @obsessed-with-a-fictional-man @melodicheauxxo @seolaseoul @peteprker @peetahpahkah @marajillana @yeetzel

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#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x fem!reader #Tom Holland x dancer!reader #tshwritersnet #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tiptoeing around your heart

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