Thirty One
Thirty one
Felix
I ’m fucked. I’m more fucked than I’ve ever been, and I have no one to talk to about it. Nico would be the obvious person because he would understand the pressure, but what he wouldn’t understand is how much this thing between us is fucking with my head. It’s bad enough that he’s there to witness me fuck up day after day, but talking to him about it or asking for his help with it makes me feel weak and pathetic. The last thing I want is for Nico to know how scared I am or how vulnerable this thing between us makes me feel. Besides, I don’t ask people for help; they ask me.
I fucking dropped him. Alright, he’s fine, but he might not have been and that would have been my fault. Ben’s given me the lead on this and I’m going to fuck it up and everyone will see it, including Nico, and then whatever this attraction is he feels will evaporate and I’ll be alone again. I’ll be the massive fucking disappointment that my father has always said I am. So far, he hasn’t said a word about my behaviour or my endless mistakes. Christ, he doesn’t even look annoyed at me about it—except for today, right before I dropped him. He’s been keeping his head down, listening and learning before executing the choreo like he learned it years ago. By contrast, I can’t seem to connect relevé to pirouette if my life depended on it. It’s like someone switched my legs around while I was sleeping.
So, like I say, I’m fucked.
I’m in the changing room texting Christian to see if he’s free for dinner and a much-needed chat when Charlie finds me. I’d started getting undressed but stopped halfway and sat down, all energy sapped from me, so I’m in my tights and nothing else. I see Charlie’s eyes roam over me at length before he plasters on a friendly smile. I pull my sweatshirt over my chest even though the outfit is ridiculous.
“Hey,” he says, flopping down next to me. “How’d this afternoon go?”
“Abysmally,” I admit. “I dropped Savini.”
“Shit. He okay?” He doesn’t sound the least bit concerned. Probably since he’d be my Patroclus if I hurt Nico.
“Seems to be.”
He settles a hand on the centre of my back and rubs softly. “It’s a lot of pressure, don’t beat yourself up about it.”
“I’m used to pressure, Char. We all are.” I swallow my next words because it’s not the sort of thing I would ever admit out loud. I’m scared I’m going to fuck this up. Embarrass myself.
“You’ll get there,” he says. “This is unlike anything any of us have done before. This role was written for you, you’re the first person who’s ever going to play this; everyone who comes after will have to live up to you. That’s a different kind of pressure.” I know he isn’t saying this to freak me out, but there’s a new flavour of nausea in my stomach that wasn’t there a second ago.
I stand, nodding with an enthusiasm I don’t feel. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be alright. I just need to find this character and it’ll come together.” From what I could tell so far, Achilles was a selfish, prideful prick, so it shouldn’t be all that difficult for me to find.
“It will! I promise you it will.” He’s delighted because he thinks he’s helped fix me or something. Then his attention flits over my shoulder and his expression sobers.
I turn to see Noah, hovering. “Ben is looking for a word before you go.”
“I’ve kinda got somewhere I need to be,” I lie.
“Yeah, he thought you might say that,” Noah says politely. “And he said I was to let you know that he has a board meeting later this evening to update them on progress and your father hasn’t sent his apologies.”
I swallow, dread licking up my spine as I glare at Noah.
“Tell him I’ll be right there.”
“Great.” He beams, spins on his heel, and strides out of the changing room.
“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath. I throw Charlie an eye-roll, pull on my trainers, and make my way to Ben’s office. It’s on the top floor of the academy and has an incredible view out over Covent Garden. The door to his office is open and Noah is inside, standing by his desk, reading something to him off his tablet. I knock on the open door and step inside.
“Felix, have a seat,” Ben says and finishes confirming what sounds like his schedule for tomorrow. He gives his assistant a professional smile. “Thanks, you can go now, Noah.”
Nodding, Noah shoots me a look, which could be a warning, and disappears out of the room, closing the door behind him.
“It’s hard to watch sometimes, how he fawns over you; really hope you let him down gently.”
“Shut up, Felix,” Ben says in a very cold voice. It’s not one I hear very often. He’d been irritated with me this week, and I expected more of the same here, but this is definitely something else. More serious, more final. I sit straighter in the chair and wait for him to talk. Ben sits back and temples his hands under his chin. “Have I not been fair with you? Treated you well?”
“What? You mean despite bringing Nico Savini in and pitting us against each other? Yeah, you’ve treated me fine, Ben.”
His mouth turns up into an almost sneer. “Is that what all this is about? Nico ? I thought we spoke about this back in October. I thought you’d decided to be a grown-up about it?”
Jovially, I say, “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Do you even know how lucky you are?” he asks me with a touch of incredulity.
“In what sense?”
“You get to lead a queer ballet produced by one of the most successful ballet companies in the world, and you get to do it as an out queer man. Do you have any idea how hard I had to fight to get them—a board of eight straight men over fifty, half of whom don’t even think I should be able to get married, and four women who think of me as a fucking curiosity —to even consider putting this on? There are a hundred people right now in the set and costume department working their bloody fingers to the bone to make this a success. Fen is spending extra hours away from her children. Julien turned down Broadway, Marcus a contract with Sony Pictures. And you —the lead—can’t even turn up on bloody time.”
“I’ve not been sleeping well…”
“Then speak to the doctor,” he says, coldly cutting me off. “Three months ago, you spoke to me about loyalty; I showed you that loyalty by giving you the lead here, Felix, and this role is the lead, however you look at it. I have always treated you with the loyalty and respect you deserve. I rescued you from that Siberian labour camp at great cost to me personally because I believed in you. In the dancer I knew you could be. In the dancer I know you are.” He sits forward and fixes me with an intense and wholly no-nonsense look. “So where’s your loyalty, Felix? Where’s your loyalty to me and this company? To the dancers who look up to you? Where is the respect? Because I deserve it, as do Fen and Julien and the other dancers on that fucking stage, as does your co-star. You sit there whining about having to dance with Nico, and I’m starting to wonder if it’s because you’re terrified he’ll expose you for the spoiled, tantrum-throwing child that you are. Your work ethic and behaviour the last month have been unacceptable, not to mention disrespectful, and I won’t tolerate it, not anymore.”
It’s a strong speech; it stuns me into complete silence. Shame and guilt sit square in the centre of my chest. I’ve never heard him like this before.
And he’s right; he’s one hundred percent right.
He’s silent a long time, and after what happened a moment ago, I don’t want to speak until it’s clear he wants me to. I’ve pushed Ben to his limit many times, I know I have, but this is the first time I’ve felt terrified of not being able to pull him back.
Finally, he lets out a very deep sigh, and when he speaks again, his voice has some of the warmth that I’m used to hearing in it.
“I’m going to ask you this again,” he says. “Is there something going on? Something I need to know about or something I can help with?” He’d asked me this already this week and I’d told him no. I was fine, I’d said. “If there’s an issue with sleeping then we will speak to Simon and have him prescribe something light.”
I want, desperately, to tell him the truth. That I’m scared. That I’m terrified actually. Of letting him down and embarrassing him, of embarrassing myself, my father, this entire fucking company. I want to tell him that he’s most likely made a huge mistake in putting me as lead, I’m not the right person to bring his life’s fucking dream to the world. I’m shallow and stupid and worthless and the only fucking reason people think I’m even remotely capable is because I’ve tricked them into believing it. I’m not as good as Nico, nowhere close, and very soon Benedict, Fen, the entire academy, and board of directors are going to realise that. I’ve no idea where this has come from or if it’s been inside me this whole time, why it’s chosen this moment to rear its head, but I know I’ve nowhere left to hide from it.
But I say none of this. I look Ben directly in the eye and say, “I promise, I’m fine.”
His shoulders deflate. I can tell he doesn’t believe me.
“Something is going on, Felix, and if you won’t tell me or let me help you, then you had better sort it, and fast. It’s not too late to put Niall in, and I will if you give me even the slightest provocation from this moment on. My patience is nil. Gone. You can toss your own reputation in the toilet, but I will not allow you to do it to mine or this company’s. Have I made myself clear?”
I feel so small. Like I’m eight years old again and my father is telling me how useless I am. I want to do what I used to do and curl into a ball and cry, or get up out of the chair and run and hide somewhere until he’d calmed down or left the house.
“You’ve made yourself clear,” I say.
As a punctuation point, he stares me down before nodding once. Then he gestures at the door with his head.
I make my way back down to the studio in a daze. Disassociating. Numb, but feeling like every nerve in my body is open to the air, throbbing and raw.
Ben is fair. More than fair. And I’d taken advantage of that. I need to sort my head out and fast. Would another ballet company take me? Probably. Unless Ben told them why he’d shunted me in the first place, and though it wasn’t his style, I’d certainly deserve it.
The thing that (usually) helps me clear my head is dance. It’s the only thing I know how to do; well, except for the last month obviously. I put on the Bach playlist and begin the scene from earlier. The one where I dropped Nico after the chase, and begin to move through it, slower than the cadence of Marcus’s music calls for. I take fifth, arms rounded, and push off into a glissade . I can feel Nico behind, chasing me—with lines sharper and cleaner than mine—and I turn to move back through the steps in reverse. As I use the mirror to spot through the pirouette, my turn is shaky and the rotation way off, so I come out of the spin a beat too soon. I’m exhausted, and I know I’ll feel and dance better if I eat and rest, but I can’t fucking stop. I need to land a single combination tonight or I’m positive I’ll never dance again. It’s stupid, but it’s the game my mind decides it wants to play.
In the mirror, I can see I’m drenched in sweat, pale, and my eyes are filled with fear and quiet rage. I drop out of the spin a second time and land on the floor, wood cool against my aching legs, and just stare at my hands. They’re a little swollen and trembling slightly, though whether it’s from exhaustion or fear I’m not sure.
“You need to eat,” says a voice over the sounds of Bach’s ‘Brandenburg Concerto’. Nico is coming toward me, freshly showered and well-rested, and I get a rush of resentment and need so strong that I’m certain I’m about to hit him or fuck him. “Let me buy you dinner? I need to talk to you about something anyway.”
There’s a strange tone to his voice, some edge of reluctance that sounds awfully like goodbye. Perhaps he’s decided this little fuckbuddy thing is over. That I’m not worth the effort after all. Wouldn’t blame him.
“Can it wait until later?” I ask, getting to my feet. “Sorta in the middle of something right here.”
“I think it’s important we talk now, Felix.”
“Oh, well if you think it’s important, Nico, then of course, I’m all ears.” I face him and fold my arms, waiting.
“Not here. Let’s go grab some food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
His eyes soften as he takes a step closer. “What’s going on?” He sees something in my eyes and goes on, “Come on, you’ve been a… mess. Distracted, unfocussed, undisciplined. Talk to me.”
I think about throwing myself into his arms, begging him to help me figure out what’s going on and help me fix it, but I don’t. I can’t . So I tell him exactly what I told Ben.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine, princess,” he says tenderly. “Let me help you.”
“I don’t need your fucking help, Savini,” I snap. “I was doing just fine before you got here.”
Composed, he says, “Well, I’m here now, so you may as well let me help you.”
“Yeah, well, maybe what would help me is for you to piss off, huh?”
He frowns, but it’s this soft little thing, like I’m a puppy who’s just pissed on his carpet. It infuriates me further. “The way you’re acting right now, in there”—he gestures towards studio one—“It’s not you; you’re better than that.”
“How the hell would you know?”
“How would I know what?”
“That I’m better than that. For all you know, distracted, undisciplined, and unfocussed is me. You just bloody got here, you don’t know anything. Because I bend over and take your dick you think you have the faintest fucking clue who I am?” I laugh at him, meanly. There’s a tornado growing wild and loud in my chest, ready to obliterate everything.
I see his throat move before he says, very evenly, “I know you’re better than what you’ve been giving this last month.”
“Oh, fuck you, Savini! Literally fuck you! I get that it’s hard for you to understand, what with being so fucking faultless and perfect and never making a single fucking mistake literally ever, but sometimes I just don’t have it. Sometimes, I just can’t be fucked. And right now, I just can’t be fucked. I’m bored. Bored of this, and you, and I’m over it.” I shove past him and go to leave, but he reaches out and wraps a hand around my arm to pull me back.
He still looks calm, collected. “No,” he says. “I’m not letting you do that.”
“You don’t get to let me do anything.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not just me. You’re hearing it from me because everyone else is too shit scared to talk to you about it.”
“Who’s everyone else?” I snap. Ben hadn’t been afraid to talk to me, he’d handed me my arse on a china plate without so much as a by your leave, which means Nico’s been talking to the other dancers about me. Furious, I narrow my eyes on him. “Who the hell have you been talking to?”
“Oh, take a look around the room. Everyone is pissed off, Felix. They want this to be a success, and right now, you’re making it impossible.” His eyes and voice turn soft and imploring. “This could be so good if you just… do the work.”
I blink. “Oh, if I just do the work ? Shit, why didn’t I think of that? You’re a fucking genius.” I step forward and pat him condescendingly on the shoulder. “Thanks, mate . I think you’ve just saved the show. What a hero.”
This time, I make it almost to the door before he’s there, grabbing me by the waist and manhandling me into the corner, pressing my back flat against the cool glass of the mirror. He smells clean and fresh and the nearness of him after the last few nights apart is fucking tantalising. I bloody missed him. I missed him and I want him so much and I hate it. It’s just one more piece in the Jenga tower of shit that is my life that I cannot fucking deal with right now.
“This isn’t a fucking joke, Felix.”
“No, you’re the joke, Savini. Letting you fuck me for weeks on end has been one big fucking joke and I’m not laughing anymore. Now get out of my way.”
There’s a flicker of hurt and something else—fierce determination—before he shakes his head. “Yeah, no, you’re not doing that either. I’m not letting you set fire to this on the way out the door because you can’t be a fucking grown-up for five minutes and have an adult conversation.”
His calm, controlled, grown-up tone reminds me of the conversation I just had with Ben; of the many, many conversations I’ve had with my father over the years, and it pushes my rage over the tipping point.
Fuming, I shove him back with everything I have. “Get the fuck off me, Savini.”
He barely moves, and I’m not a weak man. With his body, he pushes me back against the mirror.
“Felix, please, don’t do this, just… listen.” His voice is so soft, so low, so tender that I feel it in my balls and my chest and the frightened parts of my soul.
“Move,” I hiss through gritted teeth, but it’s pathetic. It’s whiny and desperate and I fucking want him. I want him to fuck me rough and hard until I don’t know my own name anymore, right here in this fucking studio. I stop struggling then, settle my head back, and meet his eye. “Alright, then fuck me.”
He frowns. “What?”
I reach out and feel his cock, semi-hard, and then grab his hand and press it to mine.
“ Fuck. Me .”
There’s a moment of indecision on his face before he surges forward and kisses me hard. It’s that kiss, the one where he wants to taste all of my mouth with his tongue and lips and it’s impossible to keep up with it. So I don’t. I sink into the mirror and let him swallow me whole. He holds my head in place with one hand and traces his big hand over the outline of my cock through my tights with the other, and I have to swallow the groan of pleasure. When he pulls back from my mouth and spits into it, I almost come right there.
Panting, I say, “Just so you know, I fucking hate you.”
He smirks and leans in, licking his tongue up the side of my throat, tasting the perspiration there.
“Yeah, I can feel that,” he murmurs, squeezing the head of my dick as he kisses me again. I sink into it again, moaning, before I bite down on his lip, hard.
“Shit!” he hisses, pulling back, wiping his thumb across it. A red bead reappears on his lower lip, which I lean in to lick at. It descends into another heavy kiss that leaves me weak and breathless.
“You said never on the premises,” he says between kisses. “It was your rule, remember?”
“I like breaking the rules every now and then.” I smirk. “Now fuck me or fuck off, I have a show to rehearse for and apparently I’m ruining it for everyone.”
He presses me back against the mirror with a hand on my chest and then casts a glance over his shoulder. Most of the lights in the studio have gone out due to the motion sensor, but honestly, I’m so turned on by the idea of him fucking me here that I wouldn’t care if Fen was to walk in right now.
“On your knees,” he says quietly and fumbles with the front of his track pants. I go down smoothly and without a word, opening my mouth wide for him. This. This is exactly what I need. His dick shoved so far down my throat I can’t breathe or think about anything else but him.
“Look at that pretty mouth,” he says, pitch-black eyes glinting. “It was made for my cock.” He grabs my hair and shoves my head back against the mirror, and then he rams it inside, force-feeding me his dick. My eyes roll back in pure bliss.