She crowds the speakers like they're a bonfire in the tundra, scalding and burning her with warmth, but still she swerves and shimmies up, the static of the speakers bringing her closer, and he thinks her small body should've been blow away by the sheer violent loudness; but since this is music, it pulls her like a magnet. The pulse of the music (he knows she hates this kind of music, all beats and bass and no soul) beats through her, her body grinding the air, and no one, not even him, wants to break her spell, even though her body calls him up to her, beckoning with those half-lidded, lustful, bottomless black-brown-gold-amber swirled, every shade of brown mixed with chocolate eyes to just grab her and dance. She's lost herself again in the music, and he thinks that even someone were to dance with her, they'd never keep up; she'd gyrate off them, slipping away- because right now, the beat is her partner and she's married to the music