Author's Note: Okay, this was the hardest effing oneshot song fic I've ever written. It's because, unlike most of my oneshot song fics, I use the lyrics of the song to help me write the story. With this one, it's more like you have to listen to the song while reading along, because that's all I've been doing since Sunday night, when I got inspiration to write this after attending my bb Jason Mraz's amazing concert here...which happened to be on my birthday. :]

Anyway, that's not important. It really isn't necessary to listen to Bella Luna while reading this. But it's my hope that in doing so, it'll help with the reading experience. It's not my best and I'm not entirely proud of it because it didn't end the way I wanted it to [well, not entirely]. But I made Titanic promises to my AFF/Twittah bff @kannie87 to finish this today. 

I hope you like it and please please please REVIEW. So I know that what I'm doing is okay. :D

P.S. I didn't edit. I'm sorry, I'm a bad girl...

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The strong twang of a Spanish guitar sounds from where the band played in the right corner of the exclusive, swanky lounge-style bar that so many people know about, but so few are allowed in.  With the following chords of the new song comes an invitation for those brave enough to come and try out some dance steps on the recently polished dance floor.  Some couples are already up and out on the floor, the dashing men sweeping their gorgeously dressed dates from their seats and pulling them onto the dance floor despite squeals of protest that they can’t dance.  The sounds of bossa nova fill the room as the song continues on with a few more instrumental chords, piano joining guitar, percussion slowly seeping in as more couples seep onto the hardwood.

It’s a nice change of scenery for the five men who decided they needed something different from their usual club scene – complete with the same women desperate for their attention, the same men competing them for those women, and the same club bangers blaring from the speakers for them to dance to. Indeed, it’s a breath of fresh air for them. It’s so refreshing that their leader, a thin man with dark hair slicked back and dressed in a black suit jacket over a light gold shirt complete with a black tie, pushes up from his seat on a long, white sofa. He grins and holds out a hand to his date, a leggy, experimental blonde model who gladly accepts his silent request for a dance. As the two head off to dance, a girl perched on the lap of another man, taller and older by the looks of it, pouts her lips and asks if they can join their friends on the dance floor.  After a few protests, the blue-haired man sighs and relents, and like their friends before them, they, too, make their way to the dance floor.

Not to be left behind or outdone by his hyungs, another man, the youngest, announces to the remaining two men that he’ll be off to find a dance partner of his own from the pool of women across the room who’ve kept their eyes on the five men since they entered the club earlier that evening.  He recruits his hyung, the blonde one, to come and join him so that he too could, “have a little fun tonight.” Much like their older friend, it takes the blonde more convincing to go along with this plan.  And even though he’s already agreed to go and look for a dance partner of his own, he lets the younger one go off first so that he can make sure the last man sitting in their comfortable VIP seating area will be all right on his own.

Yes, he replies, I’ll be more than okay, as he’s not in the mood for a dance with a woman he hardly knows.  Go, he continues to tell the younger of the two, go and have some fun. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.  The blonde nods curtly and hesitantly makes his way across the room to join his friend, who’s already talking about two beautiful women who look so star struck at his presence.

The remaining man, decked out in a white dress shirt underneath a black vest and dark denim jeans, follows the trail his friend is taking across the room with his eyes, as if he’s making sure he’s made it to his destination safely. But he knows his real motive for casting his gaze across the room, and it’s not for the safety and well-being of a friend. He knows this because once his visual trail stops at where the now group of two men and two women are gathered, his eyes shift farther right, to the center of the dance floor, to where a beautiful figure in white is dancing alone, hips swaying to the music, red lips singing to lyrics.

He’s had his eyes on her all night, from when he and his friends first entered the club.  At first, she was sitting at the bar, smiling and making conversation to the bartender dressed in white with a black bow tie, with whom she was quite friendly.  A little later, he spotted her again, this time leaning against a high top near the stage where the house band was stationed, talking to different man, someone who looked sleazy and greasy and probably was trying to come on to her. And by the way her body language spoke – limbs rigid, lips pulled into a polite smile, eyes distant – she looked disinterested. At least, that’s what he, her spectator, noticed anyway. And a few minutes after that, he’d seen her up on the stage, red lips pressed against a vintage microphone, fingers curved along the silver mike stand, singing out her blues for everyone’s entertainment.

And there she is now, clad in a pearly white silk dress that stop just above her milky knees, red heels moving left and right as she dances by herself to a rhythm that goes so smoothly to the music.  He keeps his brown eyes trained on her body and how she sways from one side to the other, her left hand sliding across her torso before resting on her right hip. Her right hand is just above her head, smoothing over her hair and then hiding behind the back of her head, over the bun styled at the base of her neck. And he does this all with her eyes closed. Unconsciously, he opens his mouth slightly to run his tongue over his lips, wetting them, enticed by her movement.  His fingers curl up so that his nails dig into his skin as he forms balls of fists on either side of his body to control his temptation.  He can’t help himself. He’s only human after all.

Of course he’s mesmerized by this mysterious enchantress.  Many of the men in the vicinity were.  Like him, they all watch her with careful, curious eyes. Curious, because her beauty is enough to spark more than an ounce of interest, and careful because unlike him, they’re with dates who narrow their eyes at their men’s behavior.  And unlike the other men, he notices, whenever her eyes weren’t closed or focused elsewhere in the room, they home in on him and only him. Just as they are now.

The woman, who is still at the center of the dance floor and at the center of everyone’s attention, slows her seductive motions as she keeps her eyes on her spectator. For a second, he thinks she’ll turn away, unimpressed by what she sees or even worse, roll her eyes in disgust at being another man’s object of lust.

But she surprises him by continuing to dance, this time her movements slower and bigger as she steps forward and backward, then side to side.  Her left hand continues to explore around her body, the right one joining in as they run over her s, over the curves of her torso, behind her back, and over her bottom.  She extends one long leg forward before sharply turning around so that her back was now facing her onlooker, although her neck is craned around so that her eyes are still on him, making sure he’s still watching her dance with both hands still on her derrière. She drops her gaze to the ground as one hand slinks its way back to the front of her body.

She does this all while the male singer, who now has command of the microphone on stage, croons on about a man captivated by a woman, whose beauty is comparable to a breathtaking night sky. He realizes the lyrics are not unlike the situation he currently is in, how he pines for this mysterious woman who, in his mind, is more beautiful than a starry, moonlit sky.  He is so enthralled that when the woman turns back to face him once again, hips still swaying as she lifts a hand and curls her fingers at him, gesturing for him to come to her, he does so without thought.

Come to me, she mouths from across the room, her fingers still motioning for him to come to her, as if they’re pulling an invisible rope that draws him to her.

He rises from his seat and saunters over to the dance floor, where the woman is without doubt or question. As he makes his way, he passes and ignores the curious, concerned glances his four friends cast at him from all directions of the dance floor. Instead, he concentrates on the woman in front of him, the woman who has an invisible gravitational pull on him.

He has a newfound confidence that he uses to accomplish his one goal and one goal only – to dance with this breathtaking creature.  He’d never felt so sure of anything before and never really done anything as bold as walk up to a complete stranger for a dance, despite being the one invited to dance. Sure, they both could’ve had anyone else in this room – he because of his fame and popularity, she purely because of her beauty. There’s just something different about this woman, something that his heart tells him not would be a missed opportunity if he didn’t do anything about it. He’s sure of it.

The woman in white does not stop dancing once the well-suited man reaches her on the dance floor, greeting her with a soft, meek hello.  She and says nothing to him once he’s right in front of her, which makes him immediately regret his impulsive decision. Slowly, his newfound and short-lived confidence seeps out of him when she does not acknowledge immediately. But she does. She responds by silently casting her eyes on him, traveling up from tips of his toes, all the way up his body [which she can only guess is probably nicely sculpted as his clothes fit perfectly tight over it], to his toned arms, then up to his strong jaw line, and finally to the tips of his tousled, Mohawk-styled hair. It’s like she’s sizing him up – for what, he doesn’t know. He expects a rejection upon closer inspection, but is surprised when it’s not the case.

Dance with me, she purrs alluringly over the first chorus of the song. These are the first words she speaks to him, and they’re not a question, but a statement rather. Either way, in his mind he tells himself there is no way he’d refuse this beautiful woman. It’s as if he wants to trust her, give him his hand, his mind, his body, his heart even, though he did not know her at all. 

His response comes in the form of him grabbing her left hand in his right before using his left arm to scoop her body up and pulling him closer to his.  He begins to lead her into their partnered dance, but unsuccessfully and embarrassingly manages to step on the toe of her shoe. He looks down at their feet before shooting her head up to look at her apologetically, a verbal contrition leaving his lips.  She interrupts him with a shake of her head and a giggle before she tells him it’s okay, that she’ll lead instead.

Just follow my steps, she advises as their hands readjust so that her is now on top of his. She sets her opposite hand on his waist, tightening the grip of both.  Let me guide you, are her last words before she falls silent again, gently pushing him out and away from her, leading him in a simple box step.

They keep their rhythm up – back, slide, front, slide, back again, slide, front again – in repetition until he gets the hang of it.  As they continue the pattern, he relaxes his arm muscles and allows her to continue to take control, realizing this is the first time he’s letting a woman dictate his every move, every step in an art form he’s perfected on his own. Dancing is what defines him the best, and yet here’s a woman who’s showing him what to do. This new venture in a new style and way of dance thrills him and only fuels his curious lust for this woman even more.  Clearly, she is unlike any woman he’s ever met or has been introduced to.  Already, in the few minutes she had been in his presence, she’s managed to pull him into her presence with nothing more than a few words, something so few women have had the ability to do. She had him wrapped around her finger, or more appropriately her body as they continued their sensual dance.

But now, as the singer leads out of the second verse and into another chorus, she drops her hand from behind his back and she uses the hand locked with his to tug him toward her, their steps taking him forward, her backward. Their eyes are fixed on each other, his unsure of what direction her unpredictable steps will take them, hers reassuring him to trust her. After a few more steps, she stops and takes one step toward him, her chin slightly lifted in the air, looking as if she’s ready to home in her lips on his. He his lips and leans in without second-guessing, preparing himself for physical contact. But at the last minute, she lifts both their arms in the air before twirling beneath the arch of limbs.  When she returns to her original position in front of him, her arm finding its way around his upper body, hand on his back again, she catches the look of disappointment in his eyes and smirks.

Cool it, soldier, she playfully jests, fixing their hands so that they’re now palm to palm as they engage in a slow, cha-cha step that reminds him of the ebb and flow of the tides – back and forth, in and out.  We’ll have to get to know each other first. Lend me your name before I lend you my lips.

It takes him only a millisecond to respond.

Taeyang, he reveals in one quick breath, taking a step toward her, in which she takes a step back.  She repeats the name given to her, as she’s testing the taste of it in .  Her lips stretch out into an approving smile, the corners of them hiking up. Like the sun…

He nods his head once to confirm this fact, which widens her smile more. Yours, he asks.

But she ignores his question and instead releases both of his hands and steps backwards, away from him before spinning around so that she’s facing the opposite direction. He takes two quick steps to catch up to her, cuffing her thin wrist in his hand to spin her around when he does.  He wants to ask for her name again, but she’s not even looking at him but at the ground, as she sways her hips from side to side.  He lifts his free hand and brings it to rest underneath her chin, raising her head up slightly so that they’re now eye to eye.  For a second, she steadies her gaze on him, but at the next, she turns away.  He turns his palm so that the back of his hand slowly glides up from under her chin and to the side of her cheek, gently turning her head back in his direction. But again, she dodges his game.

Tired of her little game of hard to get, he traps one of her hands in his, interlocking their fingers while his other hands rests on her waist again.  Then, he pushes her back just as she did to him earlier when she took the lead. Slowly, the power in their dance shifts as he begins to take control.  He is not a ballroom dancer, not by any means. He is a dancer, nonetheless, although he never established that with her. So it’s understandable that she’s surprised when he lets the music take over his body, lets it tell him what to do to her.  He takes her wrist and flicks it with his to his right, sending the two of them to face the eastern side of the ballroom, both their bodies turned to each other as their heads focus in the direction their feet are leading them to.  He lets go of hand as his opposite hand grabs hers.  Another flick of the opposite wrist and they’re facing the opposite direction, heading west this time.  They continue this exchange of direction a couple more times before he steadies her by keeping a hand over her shoulder.

He leaves his hand there for a while before they saunter down the front of her body, over the mound of her , sliding it down towards her waist, then her hip, and just stopping right above her derrière. Her eyes narrow as she looks up at him, teeth biting down her bottom lip.  He smiles, enjoying the fact that he has the metaphoric upper hand, although his physical one continues to slink its way down lower, dangerously lower…until she strategically spins around in her spot, so that they are now chest to back – his chest, her back.  Although though she couldn’t see – or rather, because she couldn’t see – he arches an eyebrow at her action in confusion, but he knows that this can’t be good. Not for him, anyway.

And he’s right. Because, despite not knowing who she is, he can tell by her demeanor that is not one to be outdone, overpowered.  As the song picks up into another instrumental by the Spanish guitar playing a romantic melody, the woman starts to sway her hips side to side, to and fro against his body.  He stiffens, in more ways than one – but she is good at pretending not to notice. Instead, she turns her head to the side, lifting her right hand to caress the right side of his face.

Don’t just stand there, she reprimands, though her voice is soft. He looks down at her, finding her with eyes closed, long lashes fluttering as her eyes try to stay shut. In a low, sensuous voice, she purrs. Move with me.

Without hesitation, she dips her left hip down, her right following suit.  Without hesitation, he does the same as he presses his body up closer against her. He keeps both hands stationary on either side of her body, but as they dip lower again to repeat their previous actions, this time in sync, his hands become curious as they snake their way down her body. A soft sound of pleasure escapes at feel of their contact, their bodies still swaying as one. He searches for her hand, and once he finds it, his fingers curl around it as he flicks a wrist to spin her around, bringing them face-to-face once more.  He returns his free hand on her hip and he gently leads her into another direction, their fight for dominance continuing.

He takes small, quick steps leading her left, then right, and back around.  He lifts both their arms overhead and spins her underneath once, then twice before she steps out on her own, twirling outward and away from him. Apart from each other at two arms’ length, she pulls on his arm again, guiding him to her.  After a couple steps, she turns herself back in his direction, wrapping herself with his arm as she does so, before cozying into his body.  He cradles her in arms, holding her from behind, her head facing one side.  They sway like that for a while, her eyes closed as he rests his cheek on the top of her head.  The singer continues his song, beautiful words of unrequited feelings for the woman whose beauty was like the moon.  He closes his eyes, letting the lyrics of the song help him dictate his next move. A verbal one.

You’re beautiful, you know that, he softly confesses before he realizes what he’s doing.

She turns around in his arms so they’re once again face-to-face. She looks up at him without expression, neither bothered nor satisfied with the compliment.

Don’t, she pleads simply, her voice revealing she’s neither angry or upset what should’ve been a compliment.  She moves her hands to rest on his shoulders as his anchor down on either side of her waist.

Why, he begins to question as the heat in their fiery dance dies down to easy rocking side to side.  Why won’t you let me compliment you?

You’re just another man looking for another girl like me to feed your hunger, she admits honestly, the weight of her confession slowing their movements.

He steps forward to her, but she takes a step back, avoiding him. What makes you say that?

Her eyes float up to the ceiling, keeping them focused on the amazing glass chandelier lighting them and the entire room from above.  She looks pensive, as if she’s putting deep consideration into her answer. She sighs softly before she does.

When I asked for your name in exchange for a kiss, you replied so quickly, as if that’s all you really wanted from me. It’s how all men behavior toward me. How can I be sure you’re any different?

She asks this of him casually, nonchalantly.  To him, it seems as if he’s more perturbed by his behavior and this entire situation that she is. But as her almond-shaped brown eyes sink back down and stare into his, he notices for the first time that night that his mysterious woman isn’t as strong and as confident as she had appeared to be from afar.  Up close and really looking into her eyes this time, he sees a girl who has been hurt, one too many times before. He doesn’t understand how he didn’t realize this earlier. All that he knows is that he wants to be the one to fix her, the one to complete her.

The song playing in the background continues, the singer now singing about how he’d do anything for this girl he pines for. Again, he takes note of how the words to the song parallel the current events of his life – how the singer begs the girl, bella please…you swoon me like no other – he knows that he has to convince his girl of that same thing.

Forgive me for my earlier foolishness, he tells her, alluding to his slip error in desperately trying to seek a kiss from her.  The pace of their dance remains the same, forward and back, then side to side. This time, however, he adds in the motion of moving his hips.  His eyes are fixed on her still, as he starts to explain himself. But I promise you that I’m not like any of those men. At all. I’m not usually straight forward like this. I don’t usually start dancing with women I hardly know or meet at a bar.  There’s just something about you that pulled me in, something that I can’t let go of now. You drew me in…

Abruptly, she stops moving and drops her hands to her sides, causing him to stop as well.  The woman leans back and away from him, arms crossing over her chest as she scoffs at him, obviously not believing one word he said. She shakes her head before dropping her gaze down to the ground.  But, he slides his hand under her chin again, letting it rest on her finger before he lifts her head up.

You can’t be sure that I’m different or that I won’t hurt you. Not unless you give me a try, he admits to her with a shrug of his shoulder.  Look, I’m just a regular man, just a singer. And even though I don’t know you, there’s this overwhelming feeling in my heart that tells me you’re more to me than just some girl. You’re my world.

He looks at her as her eyes look as if they’re frantically searching for something on his face – a hint of deception, a spot of insincerity – anything to prove that she’s right about his misleading intentions.  But her eyes and head drop when they can’t find anything, as if disappointed that she’s wrong. His full, soft pink lips stretch out into a gentle, genuine smile when he sees that she realizes there isn’t anything she can find in him that would deem him untrustworthy.  He snakes his arms around her waist and pulls her into his body before he guides her into the box step she taught him. He presses his lips to her ear, reassuring him of his intentions.

Let me love you…

Just as the voice of the singer lingers in the air, singing his last note, the mysterious women lets go of her partner’s hand. The song segues into a final instrumental bit, the sounds of the guitar, piano, and percussion intertwining with each other, signaling the near end of the song.

That’s it, he thinks to himself as he curses his impulsive speech.  She doesn’t believe.

But, being so mysterious and so full of surprises, he feels the soft, warm palm of the woman’s hand on his cheek, her leg hooked around his own. They sway back and forth in place for two beats, before he takes a couple steps back as far as he can go, carrying her along with him.  After he stops, she stands upright and moves her hand from his cheek to behind his back as he dips her backwards, his body hovering over hers. When they come back up, he keeps a careful distance from her, a distance she herself closes by leaning into him and lifting her head upwards.  Unlike the previous time she did this, her lips land on his, finally kissing him. He smiles into the kiss before pressing his lips harder against hers, responding to the touch.

They pull apart just as the song finally ends – the sound of the last strum of the guitar still vibrating in the air, the last note of the piano fading out under the sound of two drumsticks lightly rattling a cymbal.  The other couples on the dance floor end their dancing and stop to applaud the singer and his band before they begin to shuffle off the dance floor.

The man and the woman, now oblivious to all that surrounds them, just remain in their spots as bodies softly brush past them to return to their seats. The mysterious woman in white looks into her partner’s small eyes, smiling once she discovers the sincerity in them.  She runs her hand over his smooth cheek, then down to his prickly chin, and lets it travel down to his chest, her eyes following its path.  When she looks back up at him again after a while, she smiles wider.

Luna, she says, not in a seductive purr or without emotion.  Instead, her voice is sweet and soft.  My name is Luna. 

Like the moon, the man replies as one side of his mouth rises into a half-smile.  She nods her confirmation just as he had with his own name.

The sun and the moon, she giggles. He laughs along with her as he cups her face in his hands and repeats her words before pulling her into another, longer kiss.  When he releases all hold on her, he studies her beautiful face once more.  Then, he leans into her so that his lips are pressed against her ear.

Bella Luna, he whispers to her, his warm breath spreading down her neck, giving her chills. How you swoon me like no other…