Chapter 25 For Charity #2
Their backs are to us, each man shirtless, loose black pants hanging low on their hips. Scythes gleam in their hands, long blades catching the light and glinting. White paint marks their faces, creating skulls, dark eyes and teeth glowing eerily beneath the strobes.
The crowd screams louder, and I cock a brow.
On the left, Asher Nicholson is recognisable.
The colourful tattoo on his shoulder is unmistakable even through the paint.
Beside him, Carter has his scythe balanced with a casual confidence, hair tied up in a man bun.
I don’t recognise the ones between them, though the one in the middle is from First Division, but they’re all seniors, that much is obvious.
The bass drops, low and seductive, and the men move.
It isn’t some cringe attempt at stripping, although it’s what I was expecting.
This looks… incredible. The choreography is sharp, laced with rhythm, sensuality woven into every precise strike.
Scythes slice the air in perfect arcs, weapons snapping in time with the beat.
Hips roll between attacks, shoulders shifting in slow undulations before exploding into sharp spins.
Chains of sweat glisten across their bodies as they drag the scythes across their torsos, down the ridges of their stomachs, before slinging them outward in dangerous whirls.
They drop together, knees hitting the stage as the scythes crash against the boards with a metallic crack. Then, with fluid precision, they rise again, torsos flexed, abs catching the light. The crowd nearly drowns out the music, shrieking so loud my ears ring.
My eyes skim lazily over the formation until I spot him.
Theo.
At the very back, a scythe balanced easily in his grip, like it was made for him.
Even beneath the skull paint, I’d know him.
His blue hair gleams under the lights, with wet, darkened strands plastered to his forehead.
His tattoos twist and ripple as he moves, shadows dancing over his skin.
But it’s his body that hooks my gaze despite myself.
The deep ridges of an eight-pack flexing with every turn, sweat tracing down his stomach until it vanishes into the sharp V of his Adonis belt.
The low hang of his pants makes the shadows there even more pronounced, more suggestive.
Then, the choreography shifts.
The men fall back, forming a half-circle, their scythes crossed before them as one figure steps forward into the light.
Theo.
The crowd explodes, shrieks reaching a fever pitch. He rests the scythe across his shoulders, hands draped lazily over either end, his chest heaving as he rolls his hips in a slow rhythm to the music.
He then drags his weapon down, every line of his body sharp and defined. Then, he spins. The scythe whirls around him in a deadly halo before he drops low, crouching with one hand braced on the stage, his skull-painted face angled up in a wicked smirk.
Girls in the front row practically collapse against the stage, clawing at the air, screaming his name.
I roll my eyes at the deafening shrieks and glance down as a younger student fights their way through the mob, clutching a donation bucket. Smart. Asking for money whilst the show is ongoing.
I dig into my purse and drop a few notes I’m carrying into the bucket.
“Are you really paying for this?” Allie’s voice comes, and I turn as she passes me a cup of Fanta as she takes a sip from her own.
They aren’t bad. I write. Not perfect, but decent. They could use some work.
But even as I write that, my eyes betray me. They keep slipping back to the stage, to him. Theo rejoins the formation, scythe flashing as he moves in perfect time with the others, slipping back into the shadows behind the one in the centre.
Theo’s the tallest there, I realise. His body flexes when he comes fully into view again, the sharp lines of his eight-pack catching the light. He smirks, spins, then winks into the crowd. The girls lose their minds, the shrieking only getting louder.
I sip at my drink, face indifferent and stoic, as if the performance is nothing special. But my stomach… It’s fluttering nervously, and I can’t deny I’m enjoying the show. My cheeks burn when I notice the outline of his manhood.
Gosh, Heaven! I scold myself.
Rain pours down on the stage, soaking the performers and making the crowd go wilder. The same first year is back again, a hopeful smile on his face with his bucket, which is almost full. Damn…
The song comes to an end with one final spin as they land on their knees and growl into the sky, their auras flaring, making the ground tremble, and my own heart skips a beat. And this time, as the lights come on, I cheer, too. That ending was perfect.
“Ok, that weapon play was good,” Allie admits before wrinkling her nose. “Did they put oil on their bodies? Such man-whores. They just want to score girls.”
You sound like a grandma. Besides, I don’t think they were the man-whores, I think it’s the girls who are all thirsty for them, I write, giggling silently.
Allie raises an eyebrow. “Not all. I will never understand this.”
I smile at her, but I realise, as much as I don’t want to admit it, that the hot dance distracted me from Holden.
I look up at the cloudy night sky and chant a spell, causing fireworks to explode above us, making the crowd cheer.
Allie looks at me sharply. “Heaven, I heard that. Your voice…” She stares at me, her heart pounding, and I simply smile.
That’s the voice from within; only a witch can hear it. I told you that I can still do spells. I wink at her, and she gives me the faintest of smiles.
“Great.”
“Hey, Alessandra Rossi! Want to go on a date!?”
We both turn towards Asher Nicholson, who leans forward and winks at her. Allie rolls her eyes.
“Never mind my father killing you. I might do it before he gets the chance. Come on, Heaven.” Allie grabs my arm, leading me off the dance floor.
“I’ll go on a date with you!”
“No, I will!”
Asher Nicholson doesn’t lack girls, but he still likes to annoy Allie. Boys will be boys.
I sense someone watching us and make the mistake of looking back to see Theo standing there, smirking.
Urgh, I know he’s going to tease me for watching this dumb show! But I only watched and gave money because it’s for charity.
Nothing else.
I toss my hair and stride away, not looking back again.