Limerence (Famous Young Things #2)

Thirty Two

Thirty two

Nico

T his is career and reputational suicide. If we’re caught, if there are cameras in here, if… Felix swallows my dick along with every thought inside my head.

“Fuck, shit, fuck…”

He makes a humming sound that vibrates along my dick and balls, eyes fluttering like he’s in heaven, and settles back on his calves like he’s getting comfortable. Which he can’t, because this needs to be over fast. I loosen my grip on his hair, and he opens his eyes. They’re wide and shimmering as they stare up into mine, and I wonder how this is the same person who not five minutes ago wanted to slice open my throat.

He looks so beautiful like this. Perfect even. Perfect mouth stuffed with my cock and eyes begging for something his mind doesn’t even want to accept. He’s more complicated than I ever considered, ever gave him credit for. And tonight, I finally saw in him something he’s tried so hard to hide from everyone:

He’s scared.

He pulls off and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth. “Okay, now fuck me. Unless you don’t have it in you, that is?”

“You fucking know I have it in me,” I say, pulling him to his feet. I kiss him roughly before shoving him around to face the mirror and kicking his legs apart. He’s wearing a white Nike T-shirt and light grey tights, though when I reach under the T-shirt, I realise it’s a pair with shoulder straps.

“It’s okay, these are old,” he says, and by way of solution, reaches behind, grabs the seam with his fingers, and pulls.

I lean in and kiss the back of his neck, which is damp with sweat and tastes distinctly of him; earth and salt. With my fingers, I widen the hole he’s started until I can feel the strap on the back of his dance belt. It’s settled down the divide of his ass like a ladies’ thong and sends a pulse of desire through me when he pulls it aside. He’s damp with sweat here, warm, toned ass clenching as I run my finger over his tight hole. I’m desperate to get inside him even though I know he wants this for all the wrong fucking reasons. I’m selfish, stupid, and shortsighted when it comes to Felix though, I always have been, and if this is what he needs right now, then I’m going to be the one to give it to him. He’ll only run to Christian or someone else if I don’t.

“Forgotten what to do next? Need me to draw you a diagram?” he says.

As a response, I shove my fingers in his mouth. “Suck.”

While he does that, I slide my hands into the front of his tights and belt and grab hold of his cock, tightly pulling it against his body. He gasps and bites down on my fingers, and I pull them from his mouth.

“Violent little bitch tonight, aren’t we?” I growl in his ear. He pushes his ass out, flattens his cheek against the mirror, and all but spits as he says, “So fuck me like one then.”

“Oh, it’ll be my fucking pleasure.”

As I clumsily try to wet and open his hole with his saliva and my fingers, I bring my other hand to his throat and apply the barest hint of pressure. Felix lets out a beautiful little whine and pushes his ass back again. I’m scared of hurting him, he’s barely open, but this isn’t something either of us can afford to drag out.

“Fucking put it in me,” he manages.

I smirk at that, meeting his eye in the mirror. “Look at you, begging for my cock like the slut you are.”

His eyes roll back in his head as his mouth opens, wantonly. I kiss him roughly, sucking on his wet tongue.

“Tell me how much you want it?” I ask against his ear, loosening the pressure on his throat. “Tell me how much you want my cock.”

“So. Fucking. Much, Nico. Please…”

The noise he makes when I slide it in is straight from the depths of my fantasies. It’s gasping and depraved, and I cover his mouth with mine so I can eat the sound from his tongue.

I pull out and thrust roughly back in, watching his face contort in pain and then pleasure. I find his cock with my free hand and play with the head. He whines and begs some more.

“Still hate me?”

In the mirror, he smirks. “I fucking loathe you,” he says. I thrust. He gasps. “I hate… everything… about… you .” His eyes look blissed out and unfocussed, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was drugged. What he doesn’t look is angry anymore, or afraid.

“Yeah, I hate you, too, princess. So fucking much.” I release his throat and kiss his mouth again, deep and soft as I continue to fuck him rough and hard. He doesn’t bite me again, instead kissing me back hungrily as his hand travels up and into my hair to hold my mouth to his. When I pull back, he moans in protest, but I want to make him watch this.

I force his head forward.

“Look at your face when I come inside you, look how much you love being filled up.” I kiss his neck as I thrust, watching his eyes watch me and then himself. “So fucking beautiful…” I tell him. “Look at you…”

When I’m close to coming, I shift my grip on his cock, wrapping my hand around it as much as the fabric will allow. He loses patience with this and tears open the front of the ruined pair of tights down to free his dick.

“Nico,” he pants. “I’m gonna shoot… Nico.”

“Yeah? Let me see it, that’s it, beautiful.” I watch his face as it moves through him, eyes pressed closed, lip disappearing between his teeth, brow creased. He’s a work of art like this, and I’m so fucking in love with him I feel it like an avalanche pouring over me.

I kiss his climax from his mouth and his throat as he floods my hand and the mirror. His orgasm squeezes my dick from the inside, and he opens his eyes just in time to watch my climax shoot through me into his body. I bite my own orgasm into the crook of his shoulder as I come deep and hot into his ass. It’s long moments of us holding each other up before some silent agreement passes between us to clean up and get the fuck away from the scene of the crime. I lick my hand clean to a look of unchecked arousal from Felix, while he uses his towel to clean himself up.

“Well, I’ve had better,” he says with a wry smile.

“Me too.”

“Fucking liar,” he says and comes toward me. He’s dampened his towel with water from his bottle and uses it to wipe my hand, then he gestures at my dick. I take the towel. “I’m on PrEP by the way.”

I feel very stupid suddenly. “I’m not… but I’ve never. Without a condom. I haven’t ever.”

He gasps. “Wow, I’m your first? Christ, you really love me, don’t you?”

You really have no fucking idea.

He takes a few long gulps from his water bottle and holds it out to me. When I’ve quenched my thirst, I give him a meaningful look.

He rolls his eyes and lets out a loud, dramatic sigh. “Fine, let’s talk. You can buy me some dinner. I’m bloody starving after that.”

I wait outside the academy while he showers and changes. I’d watched him tie his sweatshirt around his waist and walk (stiffly) to the changing rooms. As we’d come out of the studio, the corridor had been dark and empty, the lights turning on only as we’d walked its length. I didn’t know about cameras or anything like that, but it looked like we’d done an extremely stupid, fucking incredible thing and gotten away with it.

Nighttime in early February is a clear, indigo sky and a sharp, biting chill, but my blood is still hot from the sex, so I barely feel it. He’s so long in there that I start to think he’s slipped out the other door and gone home just so he can avoid this, but after thirty-five minutes, he comes strolling out like he hasn’t got a care in the world. He’s wearing a navy puffer jacket and dark wool hat, gloves on his hands. His breath comes in clean little puffs as he walks toward me.

“What do you want to eat?” he asks me.

“I’m not actually hungry.” I’d eaten before I’d gone to find him. “You decide.”

“Curry then. Let’s go.”

He takes me to a colourful tandoori restaurant in the centre of Covent Garden, less than five minutes from the academy. The host, an attractive Asian man with striking green eyes, knows him by name and ushers us straight to a small table near the window. His mood is so entirely different from the Felix I’d walked in on in the studio, it’s as though I’m sat here with someone else. Had the sex—the sex with me—done that?

He makes small talk about the menu and tells me what light dishes I could get that won’t be too much, in case I don’t want to just sit and watch him eat. The scent of the food from the kitchen forces me to order some chicken wings and a beer while Felix orders a tofu tikka, steamed rice, and some roti. He drinks water.

When he’s had a long sip and settled comfortably into his chair, he gives me a look and says, “Think we could leave the ‘you’re a waste of space, Felix’ stuff until after I’ve eaten?”

“You’re not a waste of space.”

He does something with his face. “Tell Ben that.”

“Ben doesn’t think that, either. He doesn’t. He wouldn’t have written an entire ballet around you if he did.”

“People make mistakes.” He shrugs, lifting his water. “He’s certainly not my biggest fan right now.”

“Is he ever?”

“He likes me. I remind him of his younger self—he’s told me this.”

“He puts up with a lot from you that no other director of no other company would,” I point out.

“Yeah, because he likes me.”

“He tolerates you. Because you’re the best.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, well, I guess now he has you, he doesn’t have to tolerate me.”

“You’re the best, Felix.”

“Are you trying to fuck me again, because you really don’t have to go this hard, Savini. I’m a sure thing. You know that by now.”

I sigh. “That’s not what this is.”

“No? Then what is it? Your idea of a pep talk?”

“I’m trying to help. I want to help, and maybe if you talk to me, tell me what’s going on inside that beautiful fucking head of yours, then I can.”

His eyes shutter at the compliment. He’s twisting his glass around and around on the coaster, a solid gold thing which matches the crockery and the light fixtures. I feel like I’m eating dinner inside a jewellery box. He says nothing, but I can see the tension creep back into his face, sharp jaw clenched tight. “I understand what it’s like.”

He scoffs at this. “Sure you do.”

“What does that mean?”

He lifts his eyes to glare at me. “Nicoló Savini hasn’t got the first fucking clue what this is like.” He gestures at himself. “Perfect fucking Nicoló. Nicoló who made lead when he was seventeen. Nicoló who only had to show up for a junior ballet competition to win it. Nicoló who walks away from ballet for two years without explanation and somehow walks back into lead as if he never even left. How was your break, superstar? Did you work on your tan?”

“That’s not…” I shake my head. “I wasn’t going to come back. When I left, I wasn’t going to come back.” We were getting dangerously close to something here that Gretchen and Hana would tell me to employ breathing techniques to deal with. I look at my napkin. Green and gold, the colour of his eyes. “I didn’t want to come back.”

“So why did you?”

I meet his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

I open my mouth to say it. You. You were the reason. You’ve always been the reason. But now there’s a waiter next to the table with a small, gilded trolley and he’s setting our food down in front of us. I watch as Felix starts shovelling tofu curry into his mouth with his bread as though he hasn’t eaten in a week. We don’t talk as we eat, though it’s like most silences with him, it doesn’t feel awkward. With him, silences are not loud things that need to be smothered with words. It feels a lot like it used to feel with Sofia. I pick up a chicken wing and nibble at it, though I’ve no appetite.

When it looks like he’s finished eating, I wipe my mouth with the napkin and sit up straighter, mirroring the position I usually take in Gretchen’s chair.

“My coach died. That was when I left Romasco. Stopped dancing.”

“You didn’t have a coach at Romasco,” he says.

“I mean my former coach. He was…”

“Sergio,” Felix says. “Yeah, I heard. Fucking tragic; what was he, fifty?”

“Fifty-one.”

“So you were sad; the guy who taught you everything dies. That’s why you went on a break. I suppose I get it.” He picks up a bit of bread and tears a piece with his teeth.

I shake my head.

Felix frowns.

I’m not sure how to say it, how to even begin to explain something this fundamental to who I am. To the dancer I am. To him, to Felix. But if I want him to know me, all of me, then I need to try. “When he died, I… it felt like… finally I could choose. Choose whether to dance or not. That hiatus was to figure out if dancing was even something I wanted to do anymore. I thought if I took a break and I missed it, then I’d know.”

“Okayyy. And then Ben came and made you an offer you couldn’t refuse?”

I give him a weak smile. “Something like that.”

“Great.” He looks unmoved.

“But I didn’t miss it.”

“You didn’t?”

“Not at all.”

He sits forward and puts his elbows on the table, scrubs his hands over his face.

“I’m not really following. Is there a moral to this story that I’m too stupid to see? You took a break to mourn your old coach, enjoyed the time off, but then Ben offered you a lot of money and you came here to make my life a living fucking hell. That it?”

“I wasn’t mourning him, I was… celebrating the fact that he was dead,” I say on an exhale. This brings him up short. “I fucking hated that man with everything I had. From twelve years old I danced because he told me to. He hit me for the first time when I was fourteen, and he did so every day for the next four years. I never made mistakes because the consequences were painful and humiliating and would take days to fade. I hate ballet, Felix. I loathe it; almost as much as the man who taught me to be great at it, and every time someone tells me how great I am, it feels like he’s there, watching, and saying: ‘ You see, it was worth it. Everything I did was to make you great. And you are great because of me. ’”

I can’t quite read the expression on his face—shock, bewilderment, some note of pity, a murmur of rage, too, I think. I’d expected to feel something at having said it out loud, out loud to someone other than my therapist. To Felix. To the person whose respect I crave more than anyone’s. To the person whose love I crave more than anyone’s. I’d anticipated some great cleansing of the soul, but I feel exactly the same.

Finally, he speaks, voice cautious and quiet, “Why are you telling me this?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “Maybe so you’ll know that I’m not your enemy. My enemy was always him, was always this—ballet. I’m not trying to take this from you or outshine you, that’s not… why I’m here.”

He frowns a little. “So why are you here? Why are you still fucking dancing? Because you telling me you hate it and still being better than I am at it isn’t the comfort you think it is, Nico, I assure you.”

“I’m not better, Felix, Jesus.” I scrub a hand through my hair. “I’m just clinically unable to mess up. I’m fucking brainwashed!” Felix blinks at the tone and sits back in his chair, studying me. “Look, I get it. Most days this thing is a dog fight. You’re fighting your friends, your enemies, your previous season. But really, you’re fighting yourself. Your body, your mind. Let me help you. Trust me and let me help you, I’m on your side.” I’ve had no one on mine, ever. I don’t want him to feel that way. I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do, and I fully expect him to pull away, but I reach across the table and take his hand, loosely curling my fingers around his. He stares at me with wide, hopeful eyes before looking down at our joined hands. Very slowly, he curls his own around mine.

“I’m terrified,” he says very quietly.

“What of?”

“Failing.”

“What makes you think you’re going to fail?”

He lifts his gaze and gives me a look. “I’m already failing, I’ve already fucked up so many times I’ve lost count. No one thinks I can do this. Ben knows I can’t and he’s looking for the opportunity to throw me out. It’s exactly what my dad wants, too, I think. For me to fail, for me to have to go crawling back to him to tell him he was right and that I need him. I think it’s always pissed him off that Ben believed in me so much. And fuck, I don’t want to let Ben down, I really don’t, but it’s like…” He pulls his hand out of mine then and he stuffs it into his hair to pull at the curls. “Everything is going wrong, and I don’t know how to pull it back, Nico. I think maybe if I quit, there’s still time for him to recast, and you and Niall could do it. I think that would be best for—”

“Hey.” I snap my fingers gently. “Hey, listen to me.”

Felix closes his mouth and gives me that same wide-eyed look, hopeful. Like I alone can explain this thing that’s happening to him and make it make sense.

“No one could do this role as well as you could, Felix. No one in this company or any company in the world. Ben cast you for a reason.”

Very sternly, he says, “You could.”

I shake my head. “No, I couldn’t. I could give it a really good go, and I would, but this character, this role, it was made for you. A golden asshole demigod with an attitude problem? I mean come on, princess.”

His mouth hints at a smile. “Yeah, okay, fine. But maybe that’s partly why I’m freaking the fuck out over it. I should be able to do this role in my fucking sleep, Nico. Because you’re right, everything about it is coded just for me, but… but I can’t do it. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I can’t focus on anything, I’m not sleeping great, I’m constantly thinking about—” He cuts himself off with a shake of his head and a brief glance at me. “People are expecting shit from me now, and I don’t know that I’ve ever had that, you know? All my life it’s been about proving people wrong: the kids at school who’d call me a little gay boy, the other dancers at Bluclair who thought my rich, powerful daddy was the reason I was even there, the entire homophobic cast at St. Petersburg.”

“I don’t get it,” I say. “You’ve been here for four years, why is this different? What’s changed?” I truly don’t understand what is so different about this show that has him so on the ropes like this. But when he meets my eye very directly, waiting for me to get it, it slaps me right in the face.

“You.”

It’s like he’s thrown a cup of cold water on my face, and of course the waiter chooses that moment to come and take away our plates and to ask about dessert. We both decline. Felix asks for the check instead.

“ I’m the reason you’re feeling like this?”

“No, I am . But you’re the cause of it, I’m sure of it now...” He looks down.

“I don’t get it. I don’t want your spot, Felix. That’s why I told you what I did. I’ve never told anyone except my therapist that, you know.” His eyes go wide again. “But I’m not your enemy or your rival. I want to be your…” I want to be your everything . “…friend.”

He says nothing else until the waiter comes to take his money. The check had appeared while I’d been talking, and Felix had slid it toward himself like it was a habit. The waiter makes small talk about the food, the weather, and about what we’re up to next, and then we’re alone again. I’m not sure the conversation is even close to over, but it seems to be for Felix. He stands and pulls on his jacket and gloves, so I do the same.

Outside, we head back in the direction of the academy. His tube station is this way, but the direction of my place isn’t.

“I’m not sure I want to be your friend, Savini,” he says at last, voice heavy with portent. He stops walking and turns to me. “I mean, that’s not to say I don’t want to be your friend. Fuck, I’m not doing this right.” He shoves his gloved hands into his pockets and rocks on his feet while he thinks this through. He takes his time about it too, while I basically hold my breath. “These last couple weeks with you have been… surprising. And look, I like you. Yeah, I know, it’s as much of a surprise to me as it is to you, believe me.”

I smile, a weird twist of fluttery warmth in my chest.

“And… well, I suppose what I’m trying to say is: you’re distracting. In a really hot, really sexy, really quite intimidating sort of way. Shut the fuck up and don’t say a word or I will stop talking and walk away.”

I press my lips closed very tightly then.

“I don’t know what we’re doing here, if you want something real or if we’re just fucking. I was sure it was the latter. But the way you look at me sometimes, the shit you say, for a guy who’s in the closet and who doesn’t want anyone to find out about this? It’s messing with my head a little.” I don’t bother pointing out that he was the one who didn’t want anyone to find out about us, not me. “And here’s the kicker, even if you were to turn around right now and say, ‘You know what, Felix, I like you too, let’s try this. Let’s tell everyone we work with that we’re together and try this properly.’ I don’t know if that would even be a good thing, not right now. With this show? With how I am? I’d ruin it before the end of the week. So what I’m saying, I guess, is that you’re taking up a lot of my brain power right now, Nico, and I know you don’t mean it. I believe you when you say you’re not here to take over, I do. But it’s brain power I can’t afford to spare because I can’t execute a single combination without Fen getting on my arse about my line. None of this is your fault, none of it, you haven’t done anything wrong here, but I can’t afford to be thinking about you all the fucking time when I need my mind to be here and on this. Do you get what I’m saying?”

I wait a moment because I don’t know if it’s rhetorical, but soon I realise he’s waiting on an answer. “I think you just told me you like me a lot but that you’re breaking up with me anyway. Is that it?”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not as simple as that! Fucking hell, for an Italian you can really be a dumb as fuck American sometimes.” He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What do you want me to say here, Felix?” I’m certain what I want to say isn’t going to help his inner turmoil one fucking bit. “Yeah, okay, I get what you’re saying. I don’t necessarily agree with it, but I’m not you, I’m not going through what you are so this isn’t really up to me.”

He gives me a conflicted look. I take a small step towards him.

“I happen to think we make a pretty good team. We’re fucking great together, and I think if you let me, I could help you with what you’re going through right now. If you talk to me, lean on me, share your fears and anxieties with me—I think I could help you. There’s a reason you haven’t spoken to Ava or Charlie about this, right? Do you have anyone else you can talk to who might understand? The pressure you’re under. Or are you, once you walk away from this conversation, planning to bottle this all up again and hope it just… evaporates? How many years have you been doing that?”

He has this endearing little crease between his eyebrows as he frowns at me that I want to flatten with my finger. I don’t think he’d appreciate it.

“I’m gonna bet you’re the one people come to for help. The solid one. The one who has all the answers. Who throws an arm around and promises everything’s gonna be alright. Who does that for you? Because I’m betting you don’t want them, the ones who come to you, to know you have blips, because that’s all this is Felix, a blip. You were born with a gift: you’re a talented, brilliant dancer. The best in the world. No, you fucking are, and you’re right to be arrogant about it because what you do on a stage is joy and beauty and magic. It’s art. And it’s not gone; it can’t be, because you were born with it. It’s still there in you and you will find it again, I promise you.” I take a step closer and cup his cheek with my hand. “Look, there’s no pressure here, not from me, not on this thing between us. I said when I arrived that I was just happy to be here, dancing with the best in the world, and I meant you. It’s always been a dream of mine to dance with you, and I’m happy I get to do just that, but if you want me—I mean, if you want more from me, then you got it. Just… tell me what you want, Felix, and it’s yours.”