A Dance too Far

by H L Day

  "What did he teach?"

  I frowned. Of all the questions I'd expected him to ask, that wasn't one of them. "Does it matter?"

  "Humor me."

  I opened the drawer and pulled out a teaspoon, reaching for the sugar. "History. I thought he was the best teacher in the world. He made everything so interesting, and he always had time for me. He made me feel"—my voice cracked, and I felt like the biggest idiot in the world. I tried to cover it by busying myself with spooning sugar into both cups—"special." I got the milk out of the fridge. "And our relationship, it wasn't nothing. I mean... I moved in with him. For a year. That's not nothing." The silence behind me was deafening. "And then he left. He just upped and left one day, and I was left with an apartment I couldn't pay for."

  "Where did he go?"

  "I don't know." I poured hot water into the cups. "He left a note, but it didn't really say anything, and I never saw or heard from him again. I was at college. There was no way I could have stayed on at school after everything that had happened. I had to move back in with my mum. She couldn't understand what had gone wrong between us. She'd had to weather the scandal. She'd had to listen to all the bad things that people had said about her son when he moved in with a man almost old enough to be his father. So I'd always told her everything was perfect between us, even when it wasn't. All couples fight though, right? I kept telling her how we were meant to be together. She wanted to know why he'd left, and I couldn't tell her because I didn't know myself... and it was all such a huge mess."

  "Except you did know why he'd left, didn't you, Max?"

  I swung around to face him. "I just told you I didn't."

  Cool hazel eyes held mine until I was the first to look away. "Why did he leave, Max?"

  "I..." I'd never said the words aloud before. The truth made me feel stupid. It made me feel naïve. It reminded me of how much of a liar I'd been when even my own mother hadn't seen the truth. I'd been that good at hiding things. No sixteen-year-old should ever have been that good at keeping secrets. Secrets I'd kept until this very day. I lifted my head and looked him straight in the eye. "I'd gotten too old." My mouth twisted, nausea bubbling in my stomach. "I was no longer to his tastes. He hadn't touched me for three months before he left."

  Valentin held out his hand, and I automatically headed toward him, the tea forgotten. He took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly, his thumb stroking the back of it. "Tell me the rest. Get it all out. Once and for all. Everything, Max."

  I did. The words came out in a rush, the stopper finally released from the bottle after so many years. "I was fifteen when it started. At first, it was just special attention. You know, asking me to stay behind after class, telling me how intelligent I was, how good at history I was, asking me if I needed help with homework. Then there were slight touches, nothing that could be construed as too inappropriate if I'd protested, just a brush here and a touch there. I was flattered. He was a handsome man, and he knew so much about the world, and he really seemed to get me. I started having dreams about him, about the two of us together. In the end, it was me that kissed him first. I initiated it. I started the ball rolling."

  The hand wrapped around mine squeezed harder, but then Valentin started shaking his head violently. "No, you didn't. You know what he was doing. Say it."

  I took a shuddering breath. "He was grooming me."

  "Why?"

  "Because he was a..."

  "Go on."

  I shook my head, the familiar feelings of recrimination and self-loathing coursing through my body.

  "Say it, Max. He was a what?"

  "He was a"—I wiped my face with my free hand, surprised to feel the wetness of tears—"pedophile."

  "Correct."

  "But I was still stupid to be taken in by him. I should have seen through him, or I should have told someone what was going on. I lied for him. When the shit hit the fan because we were caught together, he got me to say that nothing had happened until I was sixteen, and I did that. For him. Because I loved him."

  Valentin yanked my hand toward him, the rest of my body following so we were face-to-face, an intense expression on his face. "Now, listen to me. You were fifteen. He knew what he was doing. You did nothing wrong. Not when you kissed him. Not when you had sex with him. Not when you moved in with him, and not when you lied for him. It was all him. And if you loved him, well, that wasn't stupid either because that was exactly what he intended to happen. You. Weren't. At. Fault. So stop feeling guilty. Stop feeling stupid, and for God's sake, stop drowning yourself in alcohol so you don't have to think about it."

  I studied him, trying to work out what it was that I was feeling. Then it hit me. I felt raw, but I felt cleansed somehow because I knew he was right. How could the adolescent be the one at fault? I should have spoken to someone years ago. I just hadn't met anyone pushy enough who refused to let me get away with not talking about it. "Thank you."

  He sat back in the chair with a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll bill you for the therapy later."

  Chapter Ten

  Valentin

  He may have said thank you, but I wasn't wholly convinced that Max meant it. Not yet, anyway. He would be grateful once he finally learned to let go of the guilt and began to heal. Ever since the first moment I'd met him, it had been obvious that he was carrying around a lot of baggage. Given his relationship history, or lack of, it had been obvious that there had to be a man at the center of it. The rest I'd pieced together during our conversation from his body language and the things he wouldn't say. Then it had simply been a case of asking the right questions in order to get him to open up.

  He sat staring into space, a slight furrow on his brow. I'd expected a demand that I return the favor and talk about my own past, but it hadn't happened yet. He was too busy processing. What he needed was a distraction, a reminder that the present was always far more interesting than the past. "Let's go to bed."

  The frown grew deeper. "Bed?"

  "You have one, right? I'm assuming that you don't hang from the rafters like some overgrown bat?" At least that comment elicited a faint smile. I struggled to my feet. Even with the special boot provided by the hospital, I was loath to put weight on my ankle, the memory of what happened onstage all too vivid in my mind. I reached for the crutches, wedging them firmly beneath my armpits. Max hadn't moved an inch, his gaze still fixed on the surface of the table. "Bring condoms."

  "Condoms?"

  He needed to be shocked out of the state he'd fallen into, not treated with kid gloves. I gave him my best Valentin Bychkov withering glance. "This echoing thing is getting a bit tiresome, Max. On your feet. Condoms. Make yourself useful and fuck me."

  He stood, leaning on the kitchen table as if he needed it for support. "But your ankle?"

  I took a few steps. I was getting better on the crutches. Once I thought of it as being like a dance and had everything coordinated in the right order, it was much easier. The doctor had said that I would only need to use them for the first few days, just until I was confident enough that the protective boot would do its job. "I don't fuck with my ankle. I think we'll manage." I continued to the stairs. "Don't worry, I'll find your bedroom on my own. I didn't want a tour or anything." Truth be told, I'd already taken one before having a shower. The contents of Max's closets didn’t reveal anything about the man that I didn't already know.

  I began to make my slow way up the stairs, Max hovering behind me. "I could carry you. That might be easier." His tone said "and quicker," but he had more sense than to voice it aloud.

  The offer made me smile. Not that Max could see it when I had my back to him. It was tempting, but old habits of independence were hard to shake off. "I can manage."

  "I know you can, but..."

  I stopped for a breather halfway up the stairs, turning slightly and waiting for Max to finish his sentence. It never came. There was only a shrug. It took another few minutes, and I was sweating by the time I'd managed it, but I fina
lly reached the top of the stairs. I took another quick breather before I attempted the last few steps to his bedroom. Using the tip of one crutch to push open the door, I pretended to view the room as if it was the first time. It was your typical bachelor's bedroom, bare apart from a huge bed, a TV, and necessary storage for clothes. I sank onto the bed, letting my crutches fall noisily to the floor, and eyed the expanse of the bed. "How many men have slept here? Apart from you?"

  Instead of joining me on the bed, he leaned against a chest of drawers. "I bet you already know the answer to that, don't you?"

  I held up my hand, shaping my thumb and forefinger into a rough circle and arching my eyebrow in a question.

  He nodded, his gaze flitting away as if he was embarrassed to admit to it. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather sleep on the sofa?" His mouth twitched as he realized what he'd said. "Hang on. What am I saying? You'd be more likely to tell me to sleep there, while you have the bed."

  I pulled my borrowed T-shirt over my head, stretching my arms back to show off the muscles in my chest. "That's true. But guess what. I'm feeling generous, so I'm going to let you share."

  He crossed his arms over his chest. "I can't believe how calm you're being."

  "About what?"

  "About everything. About what Dmitry did to you. About your ankle. Aren't you worried?"

  I removed the medical boot, staring down at my swollen ankle, the anti-inflammatories and the ice pack having brought the swelling down slightly, but it still looked angry and red. I laid my hand against it, the skin feeling warm to the touch, and I thought carefully about what Max expected to hear. Then I scrapped that and told the truth. We'd come too far for me to hide behind half-truths. "Of course I'm worried. More than worried. I'm... scared." I swallowed, trying to fight down the panic threatening to claw its way up my throat. "But panicking won't make it heal any quicker, so it's a waste of energy... and the doctor said it will heal, even without surgery, so I should dance again." I didn't like the way the last sentence sounded in my head, so I hurried to correct it. "No! I will dance again! Not for a while. But eventually. And"—I smiled—"when I do, I will be glorious."

  Gaze fixed on me, Max advanced toward the bed, a hunger in his eyes, the likes of which I'd never seen before. He pushed me back and then straddled my hips, bare hands sliding across my chest. "You will be. I have no doubt." Seconds went by as we stared deep into each other's eyes. When I'd told Max to fuck me in the dressing room, I'd thought that's all it would be. A selfish moment of pleasure I'd grabbed for myself numerous times before with men whose names and faces I couldn't recall. But this thing between us kept growing bigger and bigger. I imagined the icy film around my heart slowly beginning to melt. Scared he'd be able to read the intensity of my feelings in my expression, I tapped him on the chest. "Clothes off." He reluctantly climbed off and started to strip while I did the same. "I love the fact you do what I tell you."

  He paused with his trousers halfway down his thighs. "A diva like you needs to believe that."

  I threw my head back and laughed. "Oh, I'm a diva, am I?" Careful not to jolt my ankle, I wormed my way backward on the bed until my head touched the pillow. "Come here, and I'll show you how much of a diva I can be in bed."

  Naked, Max crawled across the bed until we both lay on our sides, facing each other, his stare considering. Slowly, he reached out, his hand barely skimming my shoulder before moving to my neck. "What are the chances of you allowing me to take it slowly?"

  I moved my neck, trapping his hand against my shoulder and rendering it immobile. "How slow is slow?"

  He shuffled closer so that our bodies touched, my cock giving a twitch of appreciation at the contact. "I just thought, what with your newfound love of kissing that we could throw in a bit more foreplay than we have before."

  "I don't love kissing. I was prepared to endure it in order to wean you away from the beer."

  "That's very charitable of you." Max dipped his head, his lips barely brushing mine. When I instinctively moved forward to reinitiate the contact, he laughed. "Say please."

  "Fuck off."

  "Diva."

  I planted a hand in the middle of his chest, intending to push him onto his back and make it clear who was boss. The jolt of pain from my ankle reminded me that it wasn't a good idea. I rolled over onto my back. "As I'm incapacitated, I guess that just this once you can do whatever you want."

  Max didn't need asking twice. I watched through lidded eyes as he knelt at my feet. He dragged a pillow across, kissing the swollen skin of my injured ankle before propping it carefully on the pillow. It was an incredibly sweet gesture that brought a lump to my throat. I was suddenly glad that past circumstances meant that for the past however many years, he hadn't been with anyone for more than one night. Even though he wasn't, it made him feel like mine and mine only. He moved across to the other leg, kissing his way up my calf and smiling when I instinctively attempted to jerk away when his lips located the sensitive skin of the back of my knee. He continued up my thigh, bypassing the swollen part of my anatomy that most wanted attention from his lips to move to my chest instead. I made a feeble attempt to push his head back down to where I wanted it. "Suck my cock."

  He licked at one nipple before moving to the other. "Not yet."

  "Max?"

  My plea went unheard, and I resigned myself to the fact that he was going to drive me crazy first. I wasn't used to this. I was used to getting from A to Z in record time, where intensity of pleasure drove the possibility of other feelings out of my head. But here, with lips exploring every inch of my body and my poor neglected cock getting no more attention than the occasional graze of his torso when he shifted position, there was no choice but to feel. I turned my head to the side, fastening my attention on the chest of drawers and following the pattern of the wood. A firm hand gripped my chin, forcing my head back to him and I found myself looking up at Max as he loomed over me. "Stay with me."

  "I can't. It's..."

  He lowered his body over mine, our bodies fitting together like they were made for each other. "I know. I feel the same. But we can either fight it or give in."

  "I don't know if I can."

  He kissed his way along my jaw, each touch of his lips causing a pinprick of sensation. "You can. You just need to make that leap." He grabbed hold of my wrist, lifting my hand off the bed and placing it on his lower back. When I made no move to do anything else with it, he slid it slowly down until my hand cupped his ass. "Touch me."

  Then his lips were on mine, and his tongue was in my mouth. It was nothing like the kiss had been in the kitchen. There we'd been fully dressed, learning each other's mouths, learning the way we moved and what we liked. Here, with that knowledge safely tucked away and our naked bodies pressed together, we went straight to inferno level. It had been a mistake to bargain with him, to use his weakness as an excuse to prove to him that there were things in life he wanted more than alcohol. But, my God, what a mistake! I kissed him back feverishly, needing it more than I did oxygen, my fingers digging into the taut muscle of his ass.

  Of its own accord, my other hand lifted from where it had been clasped in the sheets. It mirrored the one already on his ass, and just like that, the dam broke, and I gave in, refusing to hold myself back anymore. We writhed together, mouths fused, hands exploring, both of us needing to be closer, even though we were already glued together. I wrenched my mouth away from Max's. "I need your cock."

  For once, he didn't argue. There was a fumble of ripping foil, a squish of lube, and then Max was braced over me, a hand pinning only one thigh back. I was touched that when I could barely think of anything but getting him inside me, he was still considerate enough to remember my ankle. There was a burning pressure as he pushed forward and then the delicious feeling of fullness. I slid my hands back down to his ass, controlling the speed and depth of his thrusts as I captured his mouth again, only breaking apart when one of us needed to take a shuddering breath.

  Max mumbl
ed something against my cheek, but I was too far gone to register what it was. I cried out as he pegged my prostate, managing to squeeze a hand between our bodies to give my cock a few strokes. That's all it took to come, my body lighting up as he continued to thrust, his groans loud in my ear as he thrust deep and filled the condom.

  Satiated lips found mine, and I kissed him back. It was as if now that we'd started, we couldn't stop. These kisses were slow though. Lazy. They were the kisses of two satisfied men, thanking the other one for getting them to that point.

  Max finally rolled off, throwing the condom into a wastepaper basket by the side of the bed. I could feel his eyes on me as he propped himself up on one elbow. "How's your ankle?"

  I flexed my foot, slowly but carefully, reaching down to extract the pillow beneath it and hand it back to Max. "It's fine."

  Still his gaze bored into me. I gave him a searching look, at the same time as I reached for a tissue to clean myself up. "What?"

  His lips quirked. "This is the point where you normally walk off or try and get rid of me. I'm waiting for the cool mask to snap into place."

  He had a point. "Well... I can't walk. And it's your house, so the first two are out of the question, and as for the mask"—I rolled my head to the side so I could see him, my eyes narrowed—"I don't know what you mean."

  He laughed and pulled the duvet over both of our bodies before draping himself around me, his body heat burning into my skin. "Right. Got it. No mask. You're naturally emotionless and cold three seconds after an orgasm."

  "Three?" I turned slightly, my head resting on his chest. "You're being rather generous there."