Dancing Man Code Novels & Stories

We’re going to rip Scott’s shadow empire down to the studs. Hours bleed into one another. The warehouse grows colder as the night drags on, the ambient temperature dropping until my fingers feel stiff over the keys. The blue glare of the monitors burns my eyes, the harsh light scraping against my corneas like sandpaper, but I don't stop typing. I hit a snag in the code. A nested loop fails to execute, returning a massive block of red error text across my command terminal. I let out a harsh, frustrated breath, dragging both hands down my face.

Even if they came across me on the outside, their faces wouldn't betray a single hint of recognition. I loved this place, because it allowed me to unleash my true self. "My dearest patrons…" I threw the rose into the crowd, watching as they scrambled to catch it. "Thank you for watching my dance." I bowed gracefully, before hooking a finger under my bodice, slipping it off. "My name is Rose, and I will be having the pleasure of performing for you starting today." I scanned their faces, picking out tonight's target. This really was… An intoxicating night!

The guy had to be over 6 feet. “They sure are different,” he responded smiling. His voice was velvety smooth while he ran his fingers through his long shaggy brown hair. He had broad shoulders that complimented his big bulky frame. He reminded me of Gronk from the patriots with how his body was shaped. “Want to play some beer pong?” He gestured to the table that was now empty. “Sure, why not,” walking over to the table. Mandy scurried over and crossed her arms over her chest popping out her hip.

Eliza answered "How sad" I traced my fingers on the rim of the empty wine glass. Suddenly, the music changed into a slow one, everyone created space at the centre for people who wanted to slow dance together. "May I have this dance?" A man with a black mask which covered the whole of his face except his eyes approached me, stretching forth his hand. I dropped my empty wine glass on the tray of a waitress who was passing by then turned back to the man. "Sure" I placed my hand on his as he lead us to the dance floor

Surely the dim lighting and the crowd would be enough to conceal my identity, at least for the moment. Without a second thought, I murmured a brief apology to the young woman and whirled around to push my way further into the crowd, hoping that I could slip through unseen by Dan. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to see me; but before I could escape, a tall, strapping young man in an all-black suit extended his hand to me. “May I have this dance, Miss?” I blinked, hesitating for only the briefest of moments before reminding myself to keep up the charade. Allowing a small, demure smile to grace my lips, I placed my hand in his.

A man from inside the bar stood there, one of the locals with brown hair and an easy, concerned smile. He looked a few years older than me, dressed in a simple shirt, his hands tucked casually in his pockets. "Hey. . .you okay out here? I saw you rush out. Looked upset." He tilted his head, eyes kind but with a hint of mischief. "I'm Elias. Would you like to dance? Might cheer you up. The night's too good to spend alone." I stared at him. Part of me wanted to refuse. Another, smaller part, the hurt, rebellious part, wondered what it would feel like to say yes.

Let me pass through first, his hand brushing the small of my back—not intimacy, guidance, the way you'd steer someone through darkness. The car was different in morning light. Smaller, more intimate, the silence between us charged with everything we hadn't named. Dante drove with his left hand on the wheel, his right resting on his thigh, still. No rhythm. No song. Just waiting. "You remember the code?" he asked. "Jab-cross-hook. Uppercut. Roll." "Good." He glanced at me, hazel eyes catching the amber hour. "Use it if you need it. I'll be watching."

Near the door, behind a small curtain, there’s a laptop, and I turn on the music I need. Ksyusha painted such a vivid picture of the man waiting for me that I decided to perform one of my more difficult, but very effective dances. For some reason, I wanted to impress this spoiled god of depravity. So, dressed in an outfit with an oriental vibe, I turn on Amanati – Moh.

Holding hands, we step onto the dance floor, coming closer, and move with the music. Our fingers entangle with each other, securing a tight grip, and he snuggles me into his intoxicating scent. His scent reminds me of agrawood. Jay Manchester is a fabulous dancer. He dances like the room belongs to him, smooth with his moves and gentle with his touch. Even a non-dancer like me looks professional dancing with him. Our bodies are too intimate, stick to each other like a second skin. “You…” He moves his lips closer to my ear. “Me?”

Double dose was the code that meant only one thing: Climb on the counter and attract more customers using the minimum of nudity that will not cause embarrassment. Not that my friend wasn't good enough to stay focused on her curvy body, but some customers used to be too smart to just watch and go back to the dance floor, without consuming, without falling into the vicious cycle and contributing to the nightclub's monetary system. That's when I acted. Knowing how to dance or not, my function changed to agile with my fingers, to professional dancer in seconds. For this, I had the few steps that Kendall taught me, and my vague skill in Just Dance, the rest fell to the fertile and dirty imaginati