Movement No. 28
Yasmeena
Suspended in the glow of the spotlight, Tempest and I perform for a second time in The Sinner’s Circus. Our bodies move completely in sync as we head towards the apparatus. The bar feels solid, the cold steel biting through my chalk-coated hands.
I hook one knee over the bar, lean into the strap, and offer her my hand. We lock eyes as she takes it, our muscles working together as Leo pulls the lever, carrying us up into the air.
Our bodies move through shapes we’ve practiced at least a hundred times, but up in front of this audience, they somehow feel new, sharpened by the risk and voyeurism of it all.
We hold a crucifix pose, suspended and beautiful, and I’m grateful we chose the bodysuits we did for tonight.
Completely sheer. Raw and exposed.
Yesterday’s performance was about uniting our species, but tonight is a true Sinner’s Circus show—sin and all.
Tempest shifts, and I trust her with my weight. Her hands slide to my waist, guiding me up until our faces are a hairsbreadth apart.
We move again, and this time she locks her legs, releasing one hand to trace the line of my shoulder with her fingertips as if we’re not at least twenty feet up in the air. She doesn’t seem to notice or care, aware of exactly what she’s doing to me.
We’re lowered towards the ground, and we make our final pose. We both have an arm hooked around one of the cables, our knees connecting at the center.
Once we complete our act, we get off the trapeze, but my foot gets caught on the bar and I trip, landing awkwardly on my ass.
It’s… embarrassing, to say the least. The crowd still cheers, a thunderous applause practically shaking the big top, but I can’t help but feel frustrated with myself.
We had this big, beautiful moment, and I ruined it by being a klutz.
“Would you feel better if we practiced tonight?” Tempest asks, and I nod, grateful she’s my partner for this.
Everyone gradually exits, leaving Tempest and me completely alone in the big top, And it feels like everything hits me all at once.
All of the politics. The turf war, and the fact that we might actually be close to ending it.
The Legion and the whispers of mutiny on other continents.
Everything else, too. Baelor cheating on Lilian, and being a fucking perverted creep.
The way Luc looks at Lilian. Little Nico’s fragile new family.
The way my heart threatens to beat out of my chest every time Tempest is around, but how I know nothing will ever come of this.
She’s too dedicated to her pack, and I’m too dedicated to the carnival.
It’s a lot, and it’s finally catching up to me, affecting not just my mental state, but physically as well.
“I think you’re overthinking things,” she says, and puts her hands on my shoulders, gently massaging them. “How much do you trust me?”
“Completely,” I say. The answer comes so naturally to me I let it slip out before my doubt can hold it back. At least with my body, I do trust her.
Just perhaps not with my heart.
“Permission to do whatever I want to you? To make you a better aerialist, of course,” she says, her voice sounding coy.
“Of course.” I give her a smirk.
Pulling out a small strip of black fabric, Tempest blindfolds me. I can feel her fingers graze my back as she unzips my bodysuit. The air is crisp and cool on my naked form, but I don’t feel overly exposed.
If anything, I feel liberated. I’m confident in my body… and confident that Tempest enjoys what she sees of me, just as I do of her.
The blindfold enhances every other sensation. My world narrows to just her—the warmth of her breath against my skin, the softness of her touch. There’s a familiar cadence to the way her body fits with mine, even when I can’t see what’s happening.
She helps me onto the ground, and I sit with my knees up to my chest as she places something on me.
It feels firm and restrictive. It’s not soft and pliable like ribbon, but it also doesn’t feel scratchy like rope.
She takes her time before she ties the first knot, the fabric caging my chest. It seems to overlap in certain places, but I can’t tell where based on touch alone.
I can feel the gears in my brain turning as I begin to understand what’s happening. It is rope, but a smoother kind, and I can feel my heartbeat increase with every movement.
Tempest puts one hand on my back, and guides me down onto my stomach, my legs folding behind me. She brings my arms back, pressing my forearms against one another at the base of my spine. There are more knots being tied, and anticipation gathers like heat beneath my skin.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing?” I ask.
A beat of silence.
“Tempest, tell me what’s happening.”
“But that would ruin the surprise.”
I don’t like surprises, but I love this strange sensation of my body tied and bound, completely at her will. It’s invigorating. Tempest is in control, able to do whatever she pleases, and I want her to.
Use me, do as she sees fit.
She runs a finger down the curve of my back, towards my ass, then continues tying the ropes until she stands up and moves away from me.
There’s the clicking sound of our apparatuses being exchanged, and I wonder what she’s choosing in place of trapeze for this exercise.
At first, I thought maybe this was sexy bondage time, but now I’m not so sure what’s happening, and that makes it all the more exciting.
Tempest returns, pulling my legs closer to my back, and I thank my lucky stars I’m flexible. She checks every knot, twice over it seems, and it’s as if I can sense the rig waiting for me.
Gradually, my body lifts, the ground slipping from beneath me until I’m suspended in the air. Bound and blindfolded, I am acutely aware of myself. The curve of my spine and the lift of my chest.
The endless pounding of my heart.
My arms are tied to my back, my legs up and bound behind me. My weight causes the rope to dig into my skin, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s a familiar feeling, similar to how it is when we do straps or silks.
But when we do aerial arts, I am in control. Now, I am at Tempest’s will, and I find myself realizing there’s no place I’d rather be.
She grips my thighs, pulling me back to her. I still can’t see anything, but I can feel her body heat. Something cold presses against my entrance, and all of my muscles shudder.
“What is that?” I ask, nervous and excited with anticipation.
“It’s what I’m going to fuck you with,” she answers, her voice sultry.
I am suddenly a puddle, sparkling and wet.
Tempest pushes inside, slow and deliberate. It stretches me and I feel full, cared for, and wanted. And everything in between.
I lose myself to the symphony of sensations. The way she smells like citrus and sage, and how her hands grip my hips as she fucks me with the strap, all of it is perfect.
“How’s this, beautiful?” she asks.
I let out a breathy moan. “Never been better.”
She shifts forward, filling me more than I thought possible, and I realize she’s untying the blindfold as it slips from my face. The tent is dark, the only light a dim red. Tempest kisses down my spine, nipping and licking, and it sends goosebumps down my arms and legs.
She thrusts harder, picking up speed, and I feel like I’m flying as she pushes me to the edge of pleasure. Everything about this feels primal and instinctual, and I want her to bite me again.
I want her to bite me hard, and then I want to make her come. I’m enjoying this more than I believed I could, but I am desperate to touch her, taste her, and bring her as much pleasure as she’s brought me.
“Tempest,” I moan. My orgasm crashes like an ocean wave, sudden and strong. It pulls me under, sweeping me away in its current.
Skin is slick with sweat, my entire body shakes as she lowers me off the rig and unties the ropes.
Sometimes the best things start by closing your eyes and letting go, I think, but I don’t say anything, waiting to see what Tempest does next.
Once I’m untied, she kisses my forehead, and grabs a small tote that was hidden backstage. Unfolding a thick fabric, she slips a robe over my shoulders. It’s soft and plush, and I breathe in her scent.
I can see the way the actual straps fit around her body, squeezing her ass and thighs as she begins to unbuckle them, and it only makes me want her more. I reach for her, but she maneuvers out of reach.
Tempest shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“But why?”
“I just can’t. I don’t want to.” She pinches the bridge of her nose.
I nod, completely respectful of that. “Okay.”
“No. No,” her voice cracks, her eyes watering, but she doesn’t let the tears fall. “I’m sorry. The problem is, I do want to, but I just can’t afford to let anyone in right now. It’s a step further than I’m willing to take.”
“It’s okay, Tempest. I promise,” I say, my voice softer than I intend. “We should head back to our tent before someone catches us, anyway.”
We pack our things, clean up the big top, and walk next to one another through camp in uncomfortable silence until we reach our shared space. There’s a weird knot in my chest, but I try to ignore it. I’m completely fine with Tempest not wanting me to reciprocate, I just wish I understood her more.
If it were a physical thing, or a preference, I don’t think I’d think twice about it, but my mind keeps getting stuck in an endless loop of her words.
I just can’t afford to let anyone in right now.
So what is this, then? What are we if we can never be anything more than a farce?
I won’t pretend I understand the gravity of her side of things. She’s from a different species—practically a different world—and her traditions and expectations might differ so deeply from mine that any chance of an us seems impossible to her.
But right now, as I look down at my wrists and the faint cuffs of red blooming on my skin, as if it were painted in faint watercolor, I can’t imagine anything except an us, and that terrifies me.
Walking into our tent, I climb into bed, and Tempest flicks off the lantern. I’m trying to fight back tears as everything threatens to consume me. The Legion’s recent assassination attempt, the conflict between our people, the fact that Baelor might be a predator.
My mind races, traveling down a hundred different paths.
The expectation that I might become the new representative of the felion is exciting.
It makes me proud, but it’s also a heavy weight on my back, threatening to take me out.
The last hour felt like the ride of my life, but now I’m experiencing the drop.
All the happy chemicals are leaving my brain, exhaustion and terror in their wake.
It feels like there’s a dagger in my hand and I’m trying to cut the rope to free myself from this anchor, but I’m not moving fast enough. I am underwater and I am drowning.
“I’m scared,” I whisper in the dark.
There’s a beat of silence followed by the rustling of covers. “Come here.”
Slowly, as if I’m mistaken or maybe dreaming, I crawl into Tempest’s bed. She’s warm, her body heat comforting as my arm reaches over her chest.
“Don’t read too far into this, nuisance,” she says, and kisses my forehead. “Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t—”
“You can still call me that, princess.” I know she can’t see it, but I hope she can feel the smile that spreads across my cheeks.
Tempest draws shapes on my skin, starting at my wrist and moving up my body until her fingers dance on my shoulders and chest.
“Did you really hate me?” I ask, even though I know the truth will sting, but I want to hear it regardless. I need to.
She lets out a staggered breath. “Yes. Did you hate me?”
“No. Not even a little. I thought you were a total bitch, but I could also see that you were hurting. This entire situation is a lot. I volunteered for it, but you were just… saddled with it,” I say, because it’s true.
I really never hated Tempest. Loathed? Yes. Lusted after? Absolutely. But hate is too strong a word. Can you hate someone if they never leave your thoughts?
“I hated you at first because it was convenient. You were a felion—the felion I was stuck with. I knew you were just as much a political pawn as I was, but I needed someone to take my shit out on, and it was easier to blame you,” she starts.
“I also thought you lived some lavish life. Every time you called me princess, it grated on me, because I felt like you were undermining my struggles. Little did I know, I was the one undermining you,” she says, and the acknowledgment of my hardships blossoms warm, fuzzy feelings in my chest.
“And now?”
She sighs, shifting to nuzzle her face into my chest. “I hate you because you make it hard to pretend I don’t care.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t care either,” I admit.
Tempest cranes her neck upwards, kissing the tip of my jaw. “I hate that I don’t hate you at all.” My eyes flutter closed, sleep taking me under its soft wings. Her voice drops down, barely even a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean anything. It can’t.”
Perhaps she’s right. But to me, it means everything.