Darling & Commander

The General: 13

Brock Cortes POV:

"Oh, stop being so difficult." Galla whines, dropping her head into my chest. "Humans are staring. They probably think I put a spell on you with some voodoo nymph magic."

At last, I have somehow managed to crack her grimace.

"Have you?" I raise a brow, unaware it was a verified concept.

"No, that is is not a real thing." She shakes her head, still hiding against my chest.

I let out a chuckle, and scowl at some men who pass by, leering at Galla. I pull her tighter and closer, unashamedly shooting daggers at them with my eyes.

"Why are you glaring again?"

"You are not even looking at me!" I insist.

"I can just sense it." She says. "Why do you keep mocking these people?"

"They eye you lecherously." I say as indifferently as possible.

"Does it bother you?"

"Indubitably. But I also know that you would never see anything past their foolish faces, so my feet are not cold." I shrug.

"So why are you holding me so tight?" She backhands me, and I wince.

"Apologies." Releasing her, I tilt her chin up. "Look at me, Galla."

"No..." She tenaciously shakes her little head.

"Look at me..." I repeat, seizing her chin and cocking it up before she pushes it back down.

"Brock." She sternly ceases to meet my eyes.

"If you do not look up at me, I will carry you over my shoulder like I did when we first arrive." I say eagerly, knowing she will hear it as a threat.

"No, you will not. You have a reputation to maintain." I slide a hand down to her bottom boldly, ready to progress when she gasps, swatting it away.

"Brock!" She hits my shoulder angrily, but I know she enjoys it to a small amount.

"Alright, I am sorry, Galla." I chuckle, straining to ignore the men feasting their eyes on her body. "I will play nice."

"And?" She looks at me expectantly.

"I shall partake in conversations, stay a good five inches away from you, and shield you from imbeciles who take a liking to your physique." I recite exactly what I have been failing at for an hour with a low grumble.

"Good." She looks somewhat satisfied with my response. "Although never say 'take a liking to' and 'physique' in the same sentence again."

"Yes, darling." I rumble out an answer.

"Oh my goodness, look!" Galla's sunny attitude comes forth once again, and she clutches my hand in hers. "The dancing has begun!"

"So it has..." I mumble.

"Oh, Brock, teach me to waltz!" She pleads. "I shall be cooperative after that, I promise!"

I turn to see the orchestra beginning to play a slow tune, and Galla looks at me excited and thrilled for a fun diversion. Unease guts my stomach when her eyes turn to me in unavowed importuning. I sigh, reaching my arm out to her and she joyously accepts it.

She pulls us to the middle of the dance floor, and stands awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed. I chuckle, and place her hands on my shoulders before planting my hands on her waist.

"What next?" She looks up at me with her unmitigated attention, ignoring the onlookers staring at us for opposed reasons.

"Step forward with your left foot... good, good, now to the right.. yes. Now close it, and back... exactly!" I beam at her. "You have picked this up quite quickly."

"The student becomes the master." Galla winks, twirling when I raise my arm.

I catch her against me, and we move at a deliberate and leisurely tempo. I stare her in the eyes, direct and unafraid at last. We find comfort in each other, a mutual homeliness in our hearts as we spin and shuffle and lock gazes. 

Amidst the crowd trying to contemplate us, I should care about what the society thinks of me. But I keep a tender stare on the her eyes, engrossed in the beautiful aura she carries with her. Her giggles chime the room when I spin her, making my own face split into a beacon of light. I do not even bother letting the anxiety in when people gasp at the infrequent grin on my face; Galla is the only thing I know.

When the song ends, I step back and bow as she finds it in her to pull off an elegant curtsey, and we step off of the floor as another song comes on. She looks at me blissfully, as if I just gave her a chest of glittering stars. 

"Are you happy now, Galla?" I say softly as we head over to the food tables.

"Yes, very." She happily sighs, accepting the glass of champagne I pour for her. "You are not having any?"

"I am rowing us home tonight. We are going to my room, and then go home." I nod, straightening my suit.

"Home?" Galla wags her eyebrows with a smirk.

"Er- I meant, like, your home." I stumble over my words, internally cursing myself.

"It could be your home too, you know..." She sips ploddingly without taking her eyes off of my own.

"Oh?" I play along, realizing she does not hold her drink quite well.

"I am not spelling it out for you, commander." Galla inspects the wine glass as if the prospect is somehow more fascinating than me.

"God, I love it when you say that..." I growl, raking my fingers through my hair; it is messy now, presumably, but I cannot bring myself to distress.

"Careful, Brock, your possessive side is unveiling..." She swallows another mouthful of the drink.

I snort. It really does not take much to get this woman buzzed.

"Say," I tilt my head. "How old are you exactly? I suppose I never really asked the important questions at dinner."

"Twenty." She stumbles a little, stabilizing herself on my bicep. "And you?"

"Twenty three..." I frown. "Are you all right, darling?" 

"Oh, yes, just continue the conversation..." She waves her arm.

"Okay.. well, when is your birthday?" I bring her over to a bench at the side of the ballroom.

"A wonderful question!" Galla declares, squinting. "It is in February... February nineteenth."

"Ah, so still quite a while then." She gets quiet after I place my hand on her knee. "Mine is soon, I suppose. It is the twenty eighth of August."

"Oh my!" Galla claps her hands excitedly. "I should get to work on a gift for you!"

"You really should not do that, letting me on your lands is enough..." I chuckle as she stares at her palms quizzically. "You are intoxicated."

"Indeed. 'Wasted', as I believe you humans say..." She crows, the laughter shrieky and beautiful.

"Can we go home now? Is that okay?" I nuzzle on her shoulder.

"Yes, I suppose..." Galla nods quietly, slurring now. "Say, did my hands always have this many creases?"