Dances with Shinobi

By Ariel-D and Darkhelmetj

Description:  SANDSIBS fic.  Set post Shippuuden ep. 32. After his harrowing experience, Gaara faces another terror:  having to learn to dance so he can dance with Tsunade at an official, celebratory ball in Konoha.    Humor/drama/angst/family/hurt-comfort/you-name-it.

Disclaimer:  The Naruto-verse and all its characters are copyrighted by Masashi Kishimoto and Weekly Shonen Jump.  I am making no profit; this is just for fun.

A/N:  Not YAOI.  Set two weeks after Gaara has been returned to life by Chiyo.  We based this on the idea of a Founder’s Day for each village, but we know no such day officially exists in canon (and we also don’t care).  This story is based on the theory that Gaara has ignored girls all his life and has no experience dating—that he poured all his time into killing, then all his time into learning to control Shukaku and becoming Kazekage.  If you’re of the Gaara’s-been-sexually-active-since-age-12 camp, then you’ll need to read this story with a grain of salt . . . or not read it at all if Innocent!Gaara annoys you.  I’m telling you upfront what our take is and why, so you’ve been warned.  Flames will be reported as abuse.

Translations (jic):  “nii-san” means “older brother”; “ototo” means “younger brother”; and “jan” is the Yokohama punk accent word Kankuro throws into his sentences, much like Naruto says “dattebayo.”

Chapter One

Two weeks.

For two weeks, Gaara had been trying to adjust to life without Shukaku.  For two weeks, the now-esteemed Kazekage had been trying to sleep, rebuild his chakra, and catch up on backlogged paperwork.  Two weeks that consisted of stress, blathering councilmen, and reports on Akatsuki’s further movements.  And during all this madness, Gaara had meditated, forced himself to remain stoic and impassive, and generally continued as though nothing had happened.  However, deep inside he had the odd urge to ram his head through the nearest wall, and now, on top of it all . . .

“Look,” Temari said, stalking onto the dojo’s floor.  “I get that you don’t want to learn to dance.  But this ball is to commemorate Konoha’s 75th Founder’s Day, and as their allies, we’re expected to attend.”

Gaara stood, arms crossed over his chest, in the training hall’s doorway.  The dojo had been added as an extension wing of the Kazekage mansion three decades earlier, but its glossy wooden floors had been kept so well-polished they gleamed as though new. Likewise, the windows on the opposing wall were dust-free.  “You should have warned me sooner, Temari.  You’re our liaison to Konoha now, and it’s unlike you to forget details, no matter how small.”

Temari propped her fists on her hips.  “I told you about the ball three months ago.”

“I don’t mean the gala itself,” Gaara said, his eyes hooded.  His ability to maintain a stoic mask had deteriorated hours earlier when he’d realized meditation was no longer going to work for him.  He was going to have to sleep tonight. He didn’t relish the idea, but given how unstable his mood already was, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer.  “I mean the dancing.”

Temari reached up and rubbed her temples with one hand.  “Hey, I can’t help it if you, as Kazekage, are expected to dance the first dance with Tsunade-sama, and frankly, I didn’t know about it until just a few days ago.”

Gaara didn’t budge from the doorway.  “Then use your newfound powers of diplomacy and fix it.”  

He was half-joking, but he was also half-serious and deadpan.  As a result, Temari took his words literally.  “I’m not the one with the political clout here.”  She crossed her arms as well and glared at her younger brother.  “And it would certainly look bad if you refused to dance with her!”

Gaara took a deep breath, trying to shake off his frustration and reminding himself that he should be mature.  He was a leader—the leader.  Kazekage.  The young man who had worked hard until he’d bonded with his village and earned many citizens’ respect. Even if he was exhausted, it was not his place to take it out on others.  

At least in theory. When he finally spoke, his usual tenacity and composure fell flat on its metaphorical face.  “How about you dance with her?” he asked, once again invoking a deadpan humor that disguised his deeper irritation.

“It’s Kage to Kage, little bro.”  Temari dropped her arms suddenly, sighing.  “Yeah, yeah—I know.  They wouldn’t have fixed it that way if one of you wasn’t female, but one of you is.  So get over it.  You have three days to learn how to ballroom dance.”

Gaara sighed as well and joined Temari on the dojo floor. As fatigued as he was, he knew it would be more difficult if he continued to argue with his sister than if he gave in. He stopped a few feet in front of her and glanced around the dojo, trying to distract himself.  He’d never imagined he’d be learning to dance here instead of practicing combat.  “Very well.”  He stuck out his hands toward her, preparing himself for the upcoming torture.

“Good.  Let’s go.”  Temari grabbed one of his hands and put it on her shoulder.  Then she grasped his other hand in hers and held it up at shoulder height.  “Okay.  Technically as the man you’re supposed to lead, but I’ll lead for now until you get the feel of the steps.”  She pulled on their suspended hands.  “This hand leads.”  She put her hand on Gaara’s waist and squeezed it.  “And this hand supports.”

Gaara tried to accept the instruction with poise, or at least with unemotional factualism.  However, his accumulated sleep-loss and inherit dislike for social events like parties and dancing won. His eyes narrowed slightly.  “This is ridiculous.  Whoever invented this should be killed and—”

“Their intestines hung out for vultures to eat?” Temari finished for him, grinning wickedly.  “I agree, but I didn’t make the rules.  We’re not going for anything special here, though.  Just a simple four-step, also known as a box step.  When we’re in action, it should look like we’re gliding in graceful near-circles, but for now we’ll go step-by-step.”

Gaara stared at his sister’s shoulder for several moments, becoming uncomfortably aware of just how close they were standing.  “Do you have to . . . touch me so much?”  He couldn’t seem to move past the sudden thought that people didn’t touch him often, except for the occasional punch or kick a few shinobi had landed against his sand armor.  It felt odd, almost unnatural. In his sleep-deprived state, it was making him antsy.  “Can’t we do this without standing so close? Or without touching each other? At all?”

Temari snickered and kept her hands where they were.  “Are you kidding?  You’ll have to hold Tsunade-sama pretty close, so you might as well get over it by holding me.  This is all about touch.  Men and women dance like this in order to fall in love.”

Her words seemed to hang like dust motes in the air between them. Gaara considered her explanation for a moment, then blushed furiously as it sunk in.  Thinking about women wasn’t an activity at the top of his to-do list.  In fact, it was close to the bottom.  Prior to his decision to become Kazekage, he’d had no use for a girlfriend or anyone else.  After his decision, he’d been too busy to even give dating a thought.  “Wonderful.”  This was a complication he didn’t need.  “Just show me how to do it.  You’re my sister.  I don’t want to fall in love with you anyway.”

“Kami, I hope not.”  Temari smirked.  “But do yourself a favor and don’t accidentally look down when you dance with Tsunade-sama.  She has a huge chest.”

Gaara felt his blush bloom across his face and burn his ears.  “I. Know. I’ve noticed.”  He sneered as several unwanted images blossomed in his mind.  “This isn’t just inconvenient, it’s disturbing!”

However, Temari seemed distracted, as though she hadn’t heard his words. She stared past Gaara’s shoulder at the dojo wall, her eyes slightly glazed. “Actually, you’re pretty short for a guy, and Tsunade-sama always wears high heels.  You might end up face-to- . . . er, face-to-chest with her.” Her voice wavered, as if she were attempting to hide laughter.

Unimpressed, Gaara wrenched his hands away from Temari and glowered at her.  “That’s it.  I’m finished.”  He turned and stalked toward the door. He had better things to do than be tortured senseless by his sister.  It wasn’t as though he could avoid the event, but Temari’s humor wasn’t helping his anxiety at all.

His sister grabbed his elbow, pulling him to a stop.  Her voice was soft and serious.  “Sorry!  It was just an observation.  I’ll find some thick-soled dress shoes for you so you’ll be boosted into a . . . safe . . . range.” She gave her brother a guilty smile.

Gaara stared at the doorway as her words echoed in his mind. For a moment, the horror refused to sink in. Then Gaara found his voice and turned to face his sister.  “Are you implying the only way I can escape is to wear . . . women’s heels?” Patient as he was, he had his limits, and wearing women’s clothing was one of them.  He felt a headache coming on.

Temari shook her head emphatically.  “No, no.  Many men’s dress shoes already come with a thick heal or sole.  That wouldn’t look odd at all.  Actually, you’ll look quite handsome in, say, a pair of black dress boots.”  She winked at him and squeezed his arm lightly.

Gaara hesitated, realizing his sister was trying to help him, and stepped back into place. It was easy to forget how patient Temari always was with him.  She never backed away from answering his questions or from helping him if he needed it.  Her rough exterior sharply contrasted with the sisterly personae that hid underneath.

Gaara sighed softly, and his irritation transformed into guilt.  “I’m sorry.  I know you’re trying to help me.  I’m just . . .”  He paused, not wanting to burden  her further. He knew what was wrong with him; there was no reason to involve Temari as well.

His sister, however, seemed undeterred by his silence. “. . . Sleep-deprived, chakra-exhausted, and wanting to be anywhere but here?” Her analysis was blunt, as always.

Gaara felt a sad smile threaten to bend his lips.  “Something like that.” He absently walked across the floor to opposite wall.  He paused and stared out one window, lost in thought.  “I’m just not sure if I . . .”

Temari followed him. She took his shoulder gently and pulled him back to her. Then she took his hands again, repositioning them for the dance.  “You’re going to be fine.”  Her expression softened again.  “I’m sure of that.  Shall we dance?”

Caught be between more guilt and a strange comfort at her touch, Gaara nodded.  “Sure.”

“Okay.  Like I said, I’m playing the role of the man for now.  I’m going to step to my right, and you’re going to follow with your left foot.  Then I’m going to step back, and you’re going to follow me.  After that, I’ll step to my left, and you’ll follow with your right.  Finally, I’ll step forward, and you’ll step back.  Got that?”

Gaara felt as though Temari had just spoken in a foreign language.  He simply sighed.  “Just do it.”

“Here we go, then.”  Temari stepped sideways with her right foot, then backward.  “Good, follow along.”

Gaara tried to match her steps, but when it was his turn to step backward, he became confused and stepped forward instead, accidentally treading on Temari’s foot.  “Sorry!”  He jerked his foot away, only to move more quickly than his sister expected, causing them to trip and fall.  With a grunt, Temari landed on top of him.

An amused male voice drifted to them from the doorway.  “I can see this is going really well, jan.”

Gaara snapped his gaze toward the door and glared at Kankuro.  “Glad you’re amused.”  He suddenly realized his sister’s chest was too close to his face and blushed again. He felt he’d die of embarrassment.  He gasped and attempted to shift from under her.  “Temari, get off of me.  Now.”  

Temari scrambled to her feet.  “Sorry!”  She paused, glanced toward Kankuro, then turned again to glare at Gaara.  “Still, you’re the one who tripped us.”

Kankuro chuckled.  “Man, you both lack grace.”

“You lack of sense of humor.”  Gaara glowered at his brother.

“Yeah, you jackass,” Temari said to Kankuro.  “Let’s see you do better!”

As the two traded glares, Gaara sat up, pulled his knees to his chest, and rested his head on his knees.  He sensed a verbal sparring match brewing between his older siblings, and the enormity of what he had to so quickly learn fell on him like a concrete pillar.  His minor headache threatened to explode into a migraine.

Kankuro apparently was going to avoid fighting with their sister, though.  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he said, holding his hands in front of himself.  “The easiest way for us to start is to let Gaara watch us dance.  Then he can see where his feet need to go.”  He walked over and crouched by Gaara, patting his shoulder reassuringly.  “How’s that?  Want to see what it’s supposed to look like before you really try it?”

Gaara glanced up.  “Sure.  And if you’re good at it, I’ll be kind enough to let you go and dance for me.”

“Sorry, no can do.”  Kankuro smiled.  “But I know we can teach you how to do this, and do it well.”  He stood and walked over to Temari, his entire demeanor radiating self-assurance.

Gaara watched his brother’s confident strides, noting that he wore simple black clothes and no face paint today.  Without the Kabuki uniform and paint, his brother struck quite a different figure, but he seemed just as poised as when he entered battle.

“Shall we?” Kankuro asked Temari, adopting a formal bearing.  He bowed to her and then extended one hand.

Temari gaped momentarily, apparently taken aback by Kankuro’s acting skills.  Then she recovered herself.  “S-sure.”  She curtsied and put her hand into his.

Kankuro put his hand on her waist, and she rested her hand on his shoulder.  Then he proceeded to guide them through several graceful rounds of the four-step.  After a few minutes, he slowed them to a stop and turned back to Gaara, who stared at him in utter shock.

“Does that make more sense now?” Kankuro asked.

Gaara couldn’t find his voice.  His brother’s utter grace and formality—his no-nonsense maturity—with the dance stunned him.  His smart-mouthed, punk brother’s performance streak seemed to cover more than fighting with puppets.

Kankuro raised an eyebrow.  “What?”  He’d apparently noticed Gaara’s shock.  “Was it the bow and curtsy?  That’s just the standard beginning of the dance.  It’s no big deal.”

“No, it’s just . . .” Gaara wasn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words, but Kankuro’s observation made him note just how many motions the dance involved.  He felt the corner of one eyelid twitch.  “How many of the . . . formalities . . . are required?”

“Just that one,” Kankuro replied.  “The rest of the formality will be covered by your tuxedo, actually.  All you have to do is bow and then dance one song.  Then you can retire to the wall and watch everyone else the rest of the evening.”  He grinned.  “Although I’m sure plenty of girls will—”

Temari elbowed Kankuro in the side and gave Gaara a fake smile.  “That’s right.  One dance and it’s over.”

Gaara was not fooled.  He narrowed his eyes.  “Plenty of girls will do what?”  That sounded ominous, especially in light of the way the village girls seemed to squeal and blush around him.  However, before he could further pursue the matter, the rest of his brother’s words registered with him.  “And what the hell is a tuxedo?”

Kankuro traded a glance with Temari.  “A tuxedo is a black suit with long coat tails.  It’s kinda like a fancier version of the trench coat and pants you wear.  In a way.”

“All the guys will be wearing them,” Temari added.  “They’re the big rage since the merchants imported them; sometimes I think they’ll replace kimonos as typical formal wear.”  She sighed.  “And don’t worry about the girls.  Sure, girls will want to dance with you, but Kankuro and I will hold them off if you want us to.”

“You’re coming as my bodyguards, then,” Gaara said, deadpan once again.  He wondered if his siblings had learned to distinguish his sense of humor from his normal seriousness.  Then again, he was halfway not joking.  He absently massaged his left temple with his fingers.  “My life is going to be in danger.”

Kankuro laughed.  Apparently, he had figured it out.  “It’s not that bad, I promise.”

Temari snorted and shook her head.  “Dancing doesn’t normally involve bodily harm.”

As his siblings continued to provide reasons not to worry, Gaara realized that he had seen a tuxedo before. He turned to Kankuro with wide-eyed horror.  “Wait!  I’ve seen a tuxedo, and it’s nothing like my clothes. My normal outfit does not have ruffles!”

Kankuro made a sudden gagging noise. He covered his mouth with one hand and looked to be only half-faking nausea.

“We are not getting you a tux with ruffles!”  Temari sounded scandalized by the mere thought. She made a scoffing noise and glanced at Kankuro as thought waiting for him to agree.

Kankuro let his hand fall from his mouth and waved it in front of his chest—an emphatic no gesture.  “Neither you nor I will be caught dead in ruffles.  I swear.  A simple tux!  Black, sleek, with normal cuffs.”  He shuddered.  “If anyone gets near me with ruffles, I’ll shove them into Kuroari and slice them to shreds!”

“Good.”  Gaara felt relieved by his brother’s sheer adamant reaction.  But with that problem solved, his mind wandered back to the implication that other women would want to dance with him . . . and what that would mean. It seemed to be a more difficult problem than the tuxedos, especially given the more he thought about it, the worse the dilemma became.  He felt his cheeks go warm and turned away from his siblings.  “I won’t be expected to dance with anyone other than Tsunade-dono, will I?”

“No,” Temari replied.  “Whether you dance with anyone else or not is entirely up to you.”  She walked around to face Gaara and smirked.  “If anyone says anything about your not being sociable enough, I’ll dance with you in order to shut them up.  Is that okay?”

Gaara understood with even greater clarity then that his sister really did care for him and look after him.  Her suggestion, though she had smirked, was an attempt to support him.  He nodded.  “Thank you,” he said quietly.  He still wasn’t sure what to be most perturbed about—the fact that he might have to spend an entire night dancing, or the fact that the idea of physical closeness with girls was making him blush and feel uncomfortable.  Then there was his seeming inability to discuss the matter seriously with either Temari or Kankuro . . .

Temari clapped her hands together.  “Good!  Now back to the lesson.”  

Gaara shook the thoughts away and stood, resigning himself to his horrible fate.

“You might want to lock your arms for the first few tries in order to lead him more easily,” Kankuro told Temari, stepping out of their way as they orientated themselves.  “You can get him to relax his elbow later.  And you’ll probably want to count the steps as you go so he knows exactly when you’re going to move.”  He retreated to the doorway, then turned around suddenly.  “Oh!  And let him watch your feet at first.  Don’t worry about making him look you in the eyes yet.”  He paused, absently rubbing his chin.  “Let’s see . . . what else?”

Gaara stared at his brother, stunned that he knew so much about the subject.  The shock immediately gave way to fear, however, as he realized he’d have to learn and remember all of that in three days.  “Learning a new jutsu would be easier,” he mumbled.

Temari sighed and glared at Kankuro.  “Yeah, I know, I know!  I remember our stupid lessons and that damn party we had to attend.”  

Lessons? Gaara wondered.  Party?  When?  What are they talking about?  Must have been when we were much younger.

Kankuro raised both hands defensively.  “I know!  I was just trying to—”

“Whatever.”  Temari huffed, her cheeks flushing.  “If you’re so good at it, you teach him.  Call me back in three days, and I’ll test his ability to lead a woman.  Got it?”

Gaara started to protest, then recognized that his sister was on the war path.  It was best to stay out of her way, especially since he no longer had his automatic sand shield. An angry Temari was accompanied by flying projectiles.

“Temari!”  Kankuro slapped his forehead with one hand.  “I wasn’t criticizing you.  I was just—”

Temari held up one hand for silence.  “Never.  Mind.  Got it or not?”

Kankuro cringed, apparently realizing he’d lost this round of Sibling Rivalry.  “Yeah, yeah.  I got it, jan.”

“Good.”  Temari stalked toward the door.  “Bye!”  She whisked past Kankuro as though he wasn’t standing there.

Kankuro sighed explosively, closed one eye, and glared after her.  “Man, what is her issue?”

Gaara glowered at his brother, thinking he was probably doomed now.  Kankuro struck him as far too macho to help him learn to dance.  It was all fine when his brother was giving Temari pointers, but Gaara was having trouble imagining Kankuro leading him in the box step.  “I’m pondering whether or not I should kill you for getting rid of Temari.  It depends on whether you’re better.”

“Well . . .”  Kankuro strolled back onto the dojo floor.  “She wouldn’t want you to know this, but Father laughed at her at that diplomatic gathering where we had to dance.  She was awkward at it, so I was left to dance with all the young daughters of the representatives.   It’s a really bad memory for her, so . . . yeah.  I kinda just put my foot in my mouth.”

Gaara pondered this for a moment, but given his sister’s lack of the stereotypical feminine graces, the story made sense.  He didn’t remember any such party, but then again, he hadn’t been an accepted member of the household the entire time his father had been alive.  “All right,” he said, sighing.  He gave his brother a hooded-eye stare.  “Make this simple, and teach me fast.  I don’t have time for this, and the sooner you teach me, the sooner you can get back on Temari’s good side.”

“Right.”  Kankuro ran his hand through his spiky brown hair.  “Oh boy . . . Okay.”  He blushed faintly.

Gaara stoically watched his brother’s unease.  Kankuro was a mix of contradictions:  a loner who loved to perform; a punk who loved his family.  He was hands-on learner, yet he had superior information-gathering skills.  He followed orders as given, yet he wasn’t afraid to defy authority if his family were in danger.  He could be loud and obnoxious, and at the same time he was an excellent listener.  Gaara wondered which facet of his brother’s personality would win in this situation.

Kankuro seemed to gather his wits, then his face grew set with determination.  Apparently the performer/warrior had won and was ready to instruct.  “Okay,” he said, meeting Gaara’s gaze, “I’ll take over the lead as the ‘man’ until you learn the steps, and then you can lead me instead.”  He inhaled deeply, as though mentally preparing himself.  “First, bow to your dancing partner.”  He paused.  “Er . . . we’ll both bow, since we’re both guys, okay?  Now, bow.”  He bowed to his younger brother.

Gaara cocked a hairless eyebrow at him, but Kankuro’s seriousness seemed to be holding.  Internally, he felt shocked senseless that Kankuro was going to actually dance with him, yet he wasn’t in a position to question it. He pushed down his reaction and bowed in return.

“Okay,” Kankuro said, stepping up to Gaara.  “My left hand goes on your waist, and your right hand goes on my shoulder.”  He grasped his brother’s waist and flexed his fingers as he moved them into the right place.

Gaara flinched slightly as Kankuro’s fingers wrapped around him, struck suddenly by how much taller and larger his brother was.  The older boy had a strong jaw, broad shoulders—everything considered traditionally masculine.  Gaara had never stopped to consider it before, but it occurred to him that compared to his nii-san, he was the right height and build to play the part of a woman.  Just as it had when Temari had suggested the shoes, a sense of discomfort ran through Gaara, though he couldn’t determine why.  “. . . Right.”  He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder, again forcing the thoughts and sensations as far away as he could.

If Kankuro noticed Gaara’s slight hesitation, he never let on. “Then we grasp our other hands at slightly above shoulder level.”  Kankuro took Gaara’s hand in his.

Gaara noted how large his brother’s hand was in comparison to his, then shoved the thought aside as he realized how stretched out he felt.  “This is awkward.”

“Sorry.”  Kankuro lowered their arms a bit.  “As the man, it’s your duty to make sure the positioning is comfortable based on the woman’s height.”

There it was again:  the thought of dancing with some unfamiliar girl.  Or Tsunade, who undeniably had— “All right,” he said, distracting himself as another blush rose to his cheeks.  “Now what?”

“Now I want you to lock your elbow and wrist,” Kankuro said.  “Make them rigid so if I push or pull on your arm, your whole body will follow suit.  We won’t do this as you get comfortable with the steps, but for now, it’ll help me guide you.” As though demonstrating, he pushed on Gaara’s hand and arm, causing Gaara to step back from him.

Gaara stumbled at first, then caught on and stepped back.  “I see.”

“Good.”  Kankuro pulled Gaara in close to him.  “I’ll explain every step as we take it, but I want you to watch my feet.  Our feet.  Again, not something you want to do in the end, but you need it for now.”

Gaara paused momentarily, uncomfortable just as he had been with his sister.  Since people usually only touched him to hurt him or to carry him when he was chakra-exhausted, he couldn’t shake his unease.  He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled.  It was fine, he told himself.  It was only his hand and his waist, and Kankuro had carried him several times when he was unconscious.  And it was his brother, who he knew he could trust to get that close.  “All right,” he said finally, opening his eyes.  He cleared his mind and focused on learning the dance.

“Okay, first we’re stepping to my right.”  Kankuro pressed on Gaara’s waist as he pulled on his left hand.  “Soooo, step left.”

Gaara frowned, watching their feet, and did his best to follow.

Kankuro stopped.  “Now I’m going to step back, and you’re going to step forward with your right foot.”

Gaara nodded, staring at their feet as they moved.  This time, he managed to step forward without treading on Kankuro’s foot.

“Good!”  Kankuro tugged him to the right.  “Now we’re going to step sideways to my left and your right.”

Gaara followed this step with ease.  “That part is simple enough.”

“Yep.”  Kankuro stopped again.  “Now you’re going to step backwards, and I’m going to step forward with my right foot.  Okay?”

Gaara had the fleeting thought that he’d best step in time with his brother, or he’d end up bruised.  Kankuro danced with great exuberance.  “All right.”  He stepped backward as Kankuro moved forward, then he was struck by a sudden realization that did not amuse him.  “This is like taijutsu training.”

Kankuro chuckled as they stopped once more.  “Maybe.”  He lowered their raised arms.  “Well, you’ve completed one rotation or ‘box’ now.  That’s the basic step—very straightforward and simple.”

Gaara wasn’t impressed.  “If you used henge, you could disguise yourself as me and dance in my place.”

“I see your sense of humor is improving.”

“Who says I’m joking?”

Kankuro grinned.  “You know you can’t get out of this.”  He raised their arms again.  “Time to modify the dance slightly.”

“Modify?”  Gaara wasn’t sure he would remember the original version.

“I prefer it this way.”  Kankuro seemed terribly joyful about it, like someone who had rediscovered a past hobby.  “Now, every time you step sideways with your left foot, we’re going to move at a faint angle.  If we do, after several rounds, we’ll have rotated 360 degrees.  Makes the dance look more . . . er, artful, I guess.”

Gaara never had entirely accounted for Kankuro’s blatant performer’s streak given that he was otherwise introverted. Even now it mystified him.  “If you say so.”

Kankuro winked at him—his habitual mannerism.  “I do.  So . . .”  He guided his brother to step left.  “Angle your step slightly forward this time.”

“Wai—”  Gaara was taken slightly off guard, but he managed to follow as Kankuro began the dance again.

“Step forward!  Good, now step right.  Keep the slight angle going!  Okay, step back.”

Gaara began to feel like he was dodging kunai.  It was doing nothing for his nerves.  “Kankuro . . .”

His brother, though, proved to be a ruthless trainer.  “Excellent!  Keep going.”  He didn’t let Gaara pause.  “Take larger steps this time; you can continue to watch our feet if necessary.”  He swept them into a faster, more graceful motion.

“Kankuro!”  Gaara tightened his hand on his brother’s shoulder, fearing for a moment he’d be tugged off his feet, but he managed to complete several rotations.  As Kankuro drew them to a stop, Gaara sighed.  “I think I have the basics.” He resisted with great effort the sudden urge to dash from the room screaming.

His brother’s eyes twinkled with delight.  He obviously loved to dance.  “Of course you do!  It’s not that hard.  So stop looking at our feet.”  He wiggled Gaara’s arm.  “And loosen your elbow and wrist.  We’ll go through this one more time, but now you have to look me in the eyes.”

Gaara stared at his brother, shocked on two counts:  one, by seeing Kankuro so animated outside of battle; and two, by realizing he had just been given more things to remember.  “But—”

“Relax!”  Kankuro smiled, and it made his entire face glow.  “It’s supposed to be free-flowing and fun.  I’m your guide, so just follow me.  And this time, we’ll do it for real.”  He stepped closer, placing his palm on the small of Gaara’s back.  “Which means we’ll have to stand closer now.  Ready?”

Gaara internally cringed, still unable to overcome the oddness of receiving nonviolent touches.  However, as he considered the other option—practicing with Temari—he decided it would be less uncomfortable with his brother.  At least when he danced with Kankuro he wasn’t constantly reminded about dancing with women.  He took a deep breath and nodded.

“Remember to look me in the eyes.”  Kankuro held his brother closely, then moved them through a series of graceful, almost circular steps.

Gaara tried to match gazes with his brother as they danced, and as he relaxed into the steps, he found the movement almost hypnotic.  After a moment, he realized he wasn’t even blinking.

Kankuro smiled at him, apparently noticing this, and began to turn them at more of an angle, swirling them through the entire dojo.

Fearing once again that he’d be literally swept off his feet, Gaara clutched his brother tightly, but Kankuro’s grip on his waist seemed solid.  By the time they came to a stop in the middle of the room, he realized he was catching on.

“Well done!”  Kankuro seemed pleased.  He released Gaara and took a step back, running his fingers through his hair.  “You picked that up very quickly.”

Gaara nodded and rubbed the bridge of his nose with two fingers.  “As long as I can remember it all . . .”  He frowned, comprehending the implications.  “It wouldn’t be pleasant if I stepped on Tsuande-dono’s feet.”

“We’ll be practicing together every day until the ball, so there’s nothing to be worried about.”  Kankuro chuckled—almost an evil little snicker.  “But you’re not done yet, jan.”

Gaara’s stomach sank with a distinct thump.  “There’s more?”

Kankuro laughed outright.  “Humor me!  We need to go through at least one round today with you leading.”

“Me lead you?”  Gaara couldn’t even imagine it.  Kankuro was taller and bigger than he was, and Gaara wasn’t in a position to use his sand to literally move his brother around.

He was doomed, he decided with utter conviction as Kankuro laughed again.  Absolutely doomed.







A/N:  Okay, so this totally began as a humor story that was going to include brotherly bonding under bizarre and hopefully funny circumstances.  I hope you enjoyed the first chapter, and be kind when you review. In the next chapter, you’ll be getting warm-n-fuzzy brotherly bonding moments!

Also, I actually had someone teach me the box step so I would write this.  I tried to explain it as clearly as I could in my dialogue and descriptions, but if anything came out wrong, please let it go.  My dancing expertise or lack thereof is not the point of the story, regardless of the title. (laughs)

Extended A/N:  Back in February, Darkhelmetj and I decided to try something we’d never tried before:  RPing on MSN Messenger. What followed was a collection of one-shots—one of which has been posted under my account and two of which are posted under hers—and two “epic” series:  Dances with Shinobi, which is seven stories long, and Defying Destiny, which is currently four stories long and is ongoing.  At first, Darkhelmetj was going to convert Dances into prose, and I was going to convert Destiny.  But after some discussion, we decided to switch.  Therefore, without further ado, I present to you story one, the title story:  “Dances with Shinobi.”

As I reread this, I think we were on crack writing half of it.  We definitely began with humor in mind, although it turned quite serious over time.  In fact, it became many things we didn’t expect or predict, as you’ll see if I post the rest of the stories.  One thing remained constant, though:  Darkhelmetj played the role of Gaara, and I played the role of Kankuro.