Chapter 13 #2
“Beyoncé would not be happy with me for saying this, but it’s to the right, Dexter, to the right, to the right!” Peter clapped his hands together as he spoke, emphasizing each word, turning them into
an attack of his own. “If you go to your left, the audience won’t see the move, which is what?”
“Pointless,” Dexter grumbled from the floor.
“Let’s take a break. I’m in desperate need of a vape, and don’t either of you two lecture me on the dangers of vaping, because
I’ve had it up to here with it.” Peter gestured to his forehead aggressively before turning from them, grabbing his bag, and
stomping out of the room.
Jonah placed his hands on his hips and looked at himself in the mirrors lining the walls. His curls were plastered to his
face, the room insufferably hot with no windows to allow in any air, and the sweat patches on his T-shirt were rather embarrassing,
to say the least. He directed his eyes toward Dexter, who seemed just as sweaty as him, his shirt sticking to his chest in
damp patches, and held out a hand to help him off the floor. Dexter hesitated, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Jonah’s
hand before taking it and allowing him to help him to his feet.
“It’s the move before that’s throwing me off,” Dexter said, running his hand across his forehead before reaching for his water.
“It naturally makes me want to step left afterward because you’re not close enough.”
If Jonah’s eyes could roll all the way into the back of his head, they would. “So, it’s my fault?”
“No,” Dexter replied quickly. “It’s me, but, yeah, I don’t know.”
“Let’s try it again.” Jonah watched as Dexter finished his water. “From the move before into this one, then we can see exactly
where it goes wrong.”
Dexter looked at this empty bottle, then gave a nod. “Okay, yeah, thanks.”
They moved into position in the middle of the room, weapons in hand, as if to prepare to duel for real.
Jonah could feel Dexter’s hazel eyes on him, scanning his body, taking in each miniscule movement right down to the tendons in his wrist tensing.
Jonah counted them down, and Dexter lunged on the count of one, the move perfect as Jonah maneuvered around him, close, but not close enough for any actual harm to come to either of them.
But then, right after Jonah readied himself for the next move, he saw Dexter veering to the left, and, as he momentarily tried to correct himself, he spun on his heel and tumbled onto the floor.
“Okay,” Jonah said, as Dexter grimaced on his knees before him. “You need to stop thinking about it and looking at your feet.
Use my body as your mark rather than the tape on the floor.”
Dexter groaned as he stood up and readied himself to try again. “Okay, sure, let’s try that.”
They tried the move again. This time Dexter went to the right, but when he swung the sword it missed Jonah completely, sailing
through the air as if Dexter had no intention of hitting him in the first place. And he needed to hit him, or at least make
the audience believe he did.
“You’re not close enough!” Dexter seethed. “You need to be closer.”
“Or you just need to learn how to aim.”
“No,” Dexter snapped and went back to his first mark. “You need to be a step forward than where you usually start.” He pointed
at the space of flooring in front of him. “Seriously, stand here.”
Jonah debated arguing with him, but the morning had long since passed them by and his stomach was rumbling and the calls he
promised to make for his mum were sitting there waiting to be made. And of course, the text from Edward from the weekend still
went unanswered, dancing around in the back of his mind like it was at a disco. So, he stood where Dexter pointed, too close,
he never stood that close to the guy currently playing Hector, and he stared at him, his expression deadpan, without an ounce
of enthusiasm.
“Closer,” Dexter said, and he placed his free hand on Jonah’s waist and gently pulled him forward. The action was strangely
intimate, even more so when Dexter kept his hand there and they looked at each other, Dexter’s eyes searching his, as if asking
permission. “Perfect,” he said and left his fingers pressed against Jonah’s hip bone for a few more seconds before letting
go to hold his sword properly.
“I’m warning you that if you actually hit me with that thing I’m gonna be pissed,” Jonah said, nodding toward the sword. “There’s a reason they don’t normally have us this close.”
“I think it will work. Trust me.” God, he asked for a lot. But Jonah decided to hell with it and put his trust in the man
who had previously kicked him in the crotch. “The same as always, just closer, okay?”
Jonah nodded, and this time Dexter counted them in, and they started out the move, bodies invading each other’s space, but
it worked. Dexter’s hand found its way back to Jonah’s waist and used it to maneuver him into the next position with complete
ease. Dexter stepped to the right, swung his sword, and Jonah recoiled back, like he’d practiced, as if Dexter struck him
across the chest. They stood motionless after the move, both of them staring at the other with wide eyes before Dexter broke
out into the brightest smile Jonah had ever seen. He reminded Jonah of a dog being shown the biggest stick in the park only
to be told it was all for him and he could take it home.
“We did it!” he exclaimed, and Jonah bit his tongue to stop himself from saying that, actually, Jonah had always been doing
it, so he smiled warmly at him instead.
“Only the killing part left to do,” Jonah pointed out. “But yeah, amazing. Want to try it again?”
“Can we go from the start?” Dexter asked, moving away from Jonah and shaking out his shoulders as he went to his first position.
“I want to make sure I’ve got everything locked in here.” He tapped his forehead. “Did you know there was never a fight scene
between Hector and Achilles during workshops?”
“Really?” Jonah said in surprise. “But it’s a huge part of the story, why didn’t they include it?”
“They sang instead.” Dexter twirled the sword in his hand as he spoke. “A battle through words, I guess? This is much better.”
He stopped speaking and looked at Jonah before darting his tongue along his bottom lip, eyes focused, as if he intended to
devour him. “Let’s go.”
Dexter somehow hit every single step without fault, and as they came to the part he had fumbled on he pulled Jonah close again, such a minute movement, barely noticeable, but it worked, and he stepped to the right and finished with a slightly harder blow to Jonah’s chest. He seemed pumped, an excitement behind his eyes, and Jonah didn’t know if it was adrenaline from finally mastering the move or the thought of getting to smack Jonah repeatedly in the ribs.
A slow clap came from the doorway, where Peter stood with a satisfied smirk on his lips. “Finally!” he said. “Though, don’t
think I haven’t noticed the little change you’ve put in there. I’ll allow it if only to get us to move past this and finish,
so I don’t go insane.”
“Do you think we should add some more choreo in?” Dexter asked, and honestly, Jonah could kill him for real. He had stuff
to do and a show to perform later in the evening; he didn’t have time to play with Dexter for longer than needed. “Because
I think the battle is one-sided.”
Peter cocked his head as he took Dexter in. “You want to change the choreography put together by professional choreographers
because you think it’s one-sided? Hector’s literally fighting a demigod. Of course it’s going to look that way.”
“Can we just finish, please?” Jonah asked, whining more than he hoped to but not regretting a moment of it.
“Fine,” Dexter said, pouting.
Peter stood by Dexter’s side as they worked through the rest of the moves, demonstrating them first with Jonah before allowing
Dexter to take his place, the pacing fast, maybe a little too fast, but Jonah wasn’t about to complain. He could see sweat
beading across Dexter’s forehead, his shirt flush with his skin, wet through, and Jonah liked how hot and bothered he seemed.
“Right,” Peter said, sweating himself as he glanced at his watch and groaned. “Let’s finish the last move, then we can do
full run-throughs next week.”
The fight ended with Achilles straddling Hector, dagger raised above his head before plunging it into Hector’s throat.
Apparently, in the original myth Achilles killed him with a spear, but spears were cumbersome onstage so a dagger came into play instead.
During performances, a blood pack would burst when the tip of the prop weapon touched it, ghastly realism that often earned several gasps from the audience and was a nightmare to scrub off your skin at the end of the night.
Dexter got into position on the floor, and Jonah crouched beside him before slinging one leg over his hip so he sat atop of
him, holding his weight up slightly so as not to cause Dexter any discomfort. Peter spoke, his voice aimed at Dexter; Jonah
did this multiple times a week, his hand clasped above his head around the dagger before plunging it down to kill the Hector
beneath him. Only this time, Dexter threw his hands up and gripped Jonah’s wrists, his breathing heavy beneath Jonah’s thighs,
and he resisted Jonah’s movement to bring the dagger down.
“Dexter. What are you doing?” Peter asked, lips in a thin line, foot tapping impatiently on the floor. “Let him kill you,
for fuck’s sake.”
“Hector would fight until the last minute,” Dexter said, looking at Jonah, eyes wide, as if he were performing in front of
thousands of people. “Let me try.” Jonah let him, allowing the show of last-minute strength to play out until Dexter faltered
and he let Jonah plunge the dagger down to the left of his neck, the side the audience couldn’t see.
“How truly method of you,” Peter quipped. “But fine. Whatever. It works. Just make sure you don’t overrun the music. We can
practice with it next week.” He picked up his things from the table and looked at them both on the floor. “That’s enough for
today. I need some food.” He narrowed his eyes at them. “You can get up now, you know.”
Jonah fumbled off of Dexter’s lap and stumbled to his feet, brushing off his knees before dumping the dagger onto the table.
Dexter sat up but didn’t remove himself from the floor. Jonah rummaged through his bag and pulled out his phone, relieved
to see no calls from his mum, but his stomach flipped seeing a new unread message from Edward.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, sweat dripping from his curls. “See you next week.”
“Yeah,” Dexter said quickly, still not moving, his body hunched over a little awkwardly. “Bye.”
“Do you need help getting up?”
“No! I mean, no, I’m fine, I just need a minute.”
Jonah hesitated, clutching his phone as Dexter angled his body away from him. “Okay. Bye.” He didn’t turn back as he left,
the phone in his hand burning his palms, the reality of his life beyond the doors screaming at him to get outside.