Griffith wasn’t sure if the stress that wound its way through his entire body was more exciting or intimidating, but he brushed his teeth and dressed in his tightest tights. And put on the dance belt, of course. The last thing he needed in photos that were to have artistic merit were obscene outlines of genitals.
The knock on his door startled him so much he actually yelped.
Slowly, Griffith turned toward the door and watched it across the length of the corridor, which seemed vaster and darker with each passing second. But he took a deep breath and walked toward the entrance, only briefly detouring to his room so that he could grab a robe when he realized there was no need for such excessive nudity just yet.
When he opened the door for Mark, his stomach was in knots, regardless of the additional covering.
Mark’s lips stretched into a smile, and he tapped the bag hanging off his shoulder. “I got some lamps and stuff. Don’t want to miss any detail.” He passed inside, almost-just-about brushing against Griff.
The heat of the contact came as such a shock Griffith took his time locking the door.
“Would you like something to drink?” he offered, following Mark. Against the backdrop of a much brighter room, his entire silhouette was on show—from the wide, strong shoulders to long legs that gave Mark his height.
Would he undress too if it got hot enough in the dance room? He’d already ditched the coat and arrived in just the black shirt.
“Just water, thanks,” Mark said but was already headed for where Griffith would be soon dancing for him.
Griffith licked his lips, which now felt dry despite the taste of mint toothpaste still present on his tongue. He ran into the kitchen, not wanting to make his guest wait.
“I want to see dynamic movement. Or to capture one of the jumps. Have you given some thought yet what you’ll dance to?” Marks asked, and from the sound of it, he was setting something up. Music? That was the last thing on Griffith’s mind.
“Well... I think it depends on whether you’d rather capture my wild side or something more emotive,” he said, entering the dance studio with two glasses of lemon-and-mint-infused water.
Mark ran his fingers through his curly hair with a smirk, letting go of a lamp he must have unfolded from his bag. “So you do have a wild side…”
Griffith chuckled and put the glasses down next to the music equipment, which stood on the only piece of furniture in the room—a low coffee table. “Doesn’t everyone? This whole thing feels pretty wild.”
“I know I do. Look.” Mark unbuttoned his shirt at the colar. “See? Collarbone.”
Griffith frowned, thrown off guard, but his gaze was instantly drawn to the pronounced lines. “What?”
“Indecent. Naked collarbone.”
Heat touched Griffith’s cheeks, but he wouldn’t be seen as a prude. In a broad gesture, he let the robe slide off his shoulders. The cool air brushed his nipples and stomach like a brief caress. “How about this?”
Mark whistled, and his grin turned wolfish. “Okay! Wow. Now we’re talking.” He turned on the lamp and grabbed his camera.
Griffith exhaled and rolled his shoulders to relax before he switched on his favorite mix of music, to which he danced when he had lots of time and no particular mood for either happy or sad melodies.
Even though Mark had watched him dance before, the way the camera lens now followed Griffith made him both slightly self-conscious and excited. He was naturally shy, but he always shed his inhibitions when music was on. He could lose himself in rhythm and flow, be proud of his body and enjoy the way others looked at him.
“The first twenty minutes or so will be a little boring. Sorry, I need to warm up first,” he said, starting to jog in place.
“Just forget I’m here,” Mark said, as if that were an option. Click after click, Mark was registering the warm-up as if even that was of interest, and Griffith realized that if Mark’s pictures were to be of any value, he needed to stop focusing on the handsome man watching him.
He breathed in, then out, and then shut his eyes, gently rocking his shoulders to the beat of the electronic song as he went from jogging to little jumps and carried on with a brisk walk around the room. Air swept through his hair whenever he moved his hands on either side of his head, slowly getting into the well-known trance of performing. In his own head, he was completely safe to be himself, even if there was someone else watching.
This was his element.
No matter how nervous he could get around this man who made him shiver, his true dream was to perform in front of thousands of pairs of eyes. There was no insecurity when it came to dancing. In motion, layers of hard shell crumbled off him, revealing the wild side that barely anyone ever got to see in its true form. Griffith might be unable to tell Mark how he felt about his presence here, but he could express the depth of his emotions with his muscle and bone.
As the music sped up, so did his movements, and he no longer worried what Mark would think of him when he faced the window and opened his chest by throwing his arms back and stretching his spine. The warm-up progressed to full-body movements, starting with Griffith reaching up and bowing to gradually stretch his muscles. Already, he could feel the familiar heat of blood rushing through every part of his body to fuel unhindered mobility. The dance belt and tights hugged his body as he twisted his bare torso and swung his arms, allowing his form to move in perfect harmony.
With his eyes closed, all other senses became loud, alerting him to the cool touch of the floor, and of the constant clicking of the camera. He twirled, changing position, and so did Mark, orbiting around Griffith like all the planets around the sun. His shoes squeaked gently against the wood, his clothes rustled, and for a moment Griffith imagined he was deep in the woods on a brisk day, about to throw himself off a cliff and dive into the clear waters of a lake.
By the time the next song ended and he opened his eyes, Mark stood in front of him, his face only partially obscured by the camera. The light coming in through the window created a path between their feet, and Griffith lunged himself down its pale course as soon as the next piece of music started with a bang, urging him on like the call of a battle horn.
Griffith stopped just inches from Mark, hand stretched out for the camera, and he could have sworn Mark’s Adam’s apple bobbed. So he wasn’t made of stone either. Griff grinned and winked at him before taking two steps back. He put all his strength into the third, catapulting himself into the air with a twist that landed him farther away. The music picked up its pace, spiraling around them and drawing Griffith into the hurricane of melody and movement that had his heart beating like a drum, his pulse like a rattle. He twisted and jerked his body, taking long, aggressive steps back and forth, in tune with the wild dance that left Mark in the eye of the storm.
He thrived on every click of the camera, and on the reverence reflected in Mark’s gaze. Griff was playing a game with the photographer—always just out of reach, ready to keep Mark on his toes with unexpected movement. Nothing felt as good as the admiration for his skill, and yes—his body too. For years Griff had worked hard to arrive at this point, and if he were to have an audience of one person, he would still give them a performance to remember.
When he was ready to take things up a notch, Griffith jumped, and the gasp it elicited in Mark felt more satisfying than a standing ovation. He smiled, and so did his body. He was warm. Uninhibited. In this moment, it felt as if he could achieve anything he wished for, realities and obligations forgotten. And so he jumped, ran, and moved his body in wave-like motions that made his stomach tense for the camera. Briefly, he caught Mark’s gaze, and it followed him all the way to the mantelpiece, which he held on to with both hands as he sank lower, using the support to twist in ways he couldn’t have otherwise.
Opening both eyes, he stared into the lens. He was beautiful. Everything in Mark—from his gaze, through his body language, to the frequency with which he took photos—told him as much. Who needed a mirror when they ha
d the adoration of a man like Mark?
Having a keen viewer spurred Griffith on to do yet more stunts. Pirouettes, twirls, shameless poses showcasing his body in ways he’d otherwise be to embarrassed about.
But not not right now.
This moment was his to live in.
By the time his muscles grew tired, it was getting somewhat darker outside, and as the current song became more melodic, melancholic at the end, he let his body fall to the floor. Catching himself just above the wood, he rolled over, stretching as if he’d just awoken. Tireless repetitions and aching muscles were paying off, because all the gestures he’d practiced came to him as naturally as breathing.
With his thighs spread into a split, he slowly curved his back and bent his body as far as he could. The pressure was back in his tendons, but he loved its burn. Mark kneeling next to him with the camera only spurred Griff on to show just how liberated and confident he could be. Just today, he’d come out to two people. So yes, he would let his body flirt.
From a sensual movement of his shoulders, to twisting his legs as if they defied rules other human bodies had to submit to, Griffith was ready to take on the world. Even the music going silent couldn’t stop him. He bent backwards and rested his weight on his hands. One push of his feet lifted him off the floor, and for a second he let his legs float in the air, their movement fluid as if he were swimming. But when the momentum was over, he tilted them forward and landed on his feet between his hands, panting and happy. Just so, so happy.
"I feel so stupid now over trying to impress you with my handstand,” Mark whispered.
Griffith chuckled, pushing back his hair, which had gotten a bit damp throughout the demonstration. Raw emotion coursed through his body in twisted rivers that threatened to overflow. “It was a good handstand. Didn’t know it was for me.”
“I may have been trying to tease you.” Mark sat back, watching him with so much awe Griff was afraid his ego might explode.
He’d preformed so many times before, yet there was something different in dancing for a man who was interested in him and knew Griff was gay. When he danced, none of his gestures was a reason for gossip, and he felt as free as if he weren’t tied to a law degree he didn’t want to do, and stuck in the closet.
Griffith laughed and poked him in the shoulder before continuing with slower and lazier movements in order to cool down. “Teasing me is apparently a hobby of yours.”
Mark instantly picked up the camera again, as if his thirst for Griff were insatiable. “What can I say? I love to see you blush.”
“You’re easy to please. With skin like mine, I always look as if I’m blushing.”
“I’m not easy to please at all. I only choose the finest things in life.” Mark smiled and ran his fingers over Griff’s shoulder. “Your dancing is amazing, Griff. Everything you do seems so effortlessly refined.”
Griffith’s arm turned into a being of its own, coming to life under the touch. He watched Mark’s hand for a moment before glancing to his handsome face. Everything about him was mysterious, as if he were the hero of an urban fantasy novel about to reveal his true form. “Nothing about this is effortless. I put so much hard work into it. It will never be anything but a hobby, but I can’t live without dancing,” he said with a quiet laugh, even though thinking about it was upsetting.
Mark put away the camera, his gaze becoming somber. When Mark listened, Griffith always felt heard, never ignored or dismissed, even when Mark laughed off some of his issues as trivial. “I’m sure not every dancer started at two, or something. Even if your skill is the result of hard work, to have reached this level in the first place, you must have talent. And passion. You don’t do this because someone made you attend classes, but because you love it.”
Griffith’s throat tightened, and he looked down at his foot when he pulled on it to stretch the leg. “No. You’re right. This is what I love most. Out of all things,” he said.
Mark was silent for a while. “I wasn’t adopted until I was sixteen. My life took a completely different turn thanks to my dads. I’ve learned to do things I’ve never thought I could be capable of, but I set my mind to it and even though I started late, I was able to turn my life around. What I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t let go of this if you love it so much.”
Griffith looked back at him, as if there was a physical pull tugging at his heart and forcing him to lean that bit closer to Mark. “But my dad isn’t like your dads. He has expectations. And he doesn’t want me to do this. In fact, he actively discouraged me until I was old enough to put my foot down.”
Mark entwined their fingers so effortlessly Griff couldn’t say no. “You’re an adult now and you can’t just do what you’re told. I have respect for both my dads, but at the end of the day, I’m the one living my life.”
Griffith took a deep breath, stilling, even though he knew it was better to cool down in motion. Everything seemed a possibility for Mark, but there was no doubt that their upbringing had been drastically different. “I still remember what happened with Charlotte. They were so afraid for me they wouldn’t let me leave the estate on my own. I don’t want to worry them again.”
“I’m not pushing you to any decision, but you have a gift, and you should take some time thinking what to do about it. Even if not professionally, people should see you dance.”
Griff thought Mark was about to kiss him, and he held his breath when Mark leaned forward, but Mark had been simply getting up.
Griffith rubbed his face, trying to shake off the odd sensation in his stomach that told him something was wrong. Not with this moment, not with Mark, but with life in general. “Maybe. But there’s plenty of people who want this too. Why would I succeed? And what would happen if I dropped out of law school for dance and acting but didn’t make it in the end? I’d be no one.”
Mark shrugged and when he turned off the lamp, he drowned the room in dim evening light. “At least you would know you’ve tried. Otherwise you would be asking yourself ‘what if?’ until you die. And you sure as hell won’t succeed if you don’t try. Think about it. At this point you have no responsibilities, no dependants. When are you gonna try if not now? You’re so young that you could still go back to school, if that’s what you decide to do in the future.”
The silence made the dark room even more isolated, and yet it seemed Griffith could hear Mark’s every breath, every time he swallowed, and even the whisper of fingers against the camera.
“But what if I give it my best, and I become one of those people who try to be actors until they’re forty and only do it as a job on the side? And by the time they realize they won’t make it, they have already ended up with no career and no savings.”
Mark started packing his equipment while glancing at Griff every now and then. “Who are you to know if they’re still not happier than they would have been without their dream?”
Griffith chuckled, even though he was feeling rather bitter now that the positive energy of the dance was slowly leaving his body. He unfastened his shoes and quickly pulled them off, happy to freely move his toes again. “I don’t think I’ll be a happy lawyer.”
“There you go.” Mark turned around to him but then stilled, and his gaze settling on Griff’s foot made all the self-conscious feelings flow back.
Griffith pulled his feet closer to his body and grabbed the sore toes. They weren’t the prettiest of sights, particularly right after exercise. “Well, there it is. I hate it. I keep telling myself that I’m going to just cram it all. I have good memory, and all that, but the truth is that I have zero passion for it. I only decided on law, because I can’t think of anything but performing that I’d like to do, and it seemed like the obvious choice. My mother studied law.”
Mark sat down opposite Griff and lifted his camera. "Would you mind if I took a few more photos?" he asked and continued when Griff nodded. "Quitting something can be just as tough at starting something new, but you've only done a two months so far. What if you
force yourself to finish the course and only then realize that this isn’t for you? You would have invested so much more time by then.”
Griffith nodded, chewing on Mark’s words. He chuckled. “Better be a failed dancer than a bad lawyer, right? What do you want me to do?”
Mark licked his lips. “Just… be. The way you are.” He only had one eye, yet it held more tenderness than Griff could handle. He lowered his lens to Griff’s bare feet, and Griffith’s first instinct was to pull them in even further.
“I don’t know. They’re looking a bit rough right now.”
“They’re what carried you.” Mark put down the camera, and when Griff didn’t flinch away, he ran his fingers over one of the feet. “And, what can I say, they’re unbearably cute with those little toes.”
Griffith laughed, though he still felt nervous when he stretched his legs and rested them in front of him. “Oh, shut up. They’re not little.”
“Okay, okay, they’re slender.” Mark gave Griff a playful grin and pulled one of the bare feet to his chest, massaging it gently.
Griffith stopped breathing. In Mark’s beautiful, tanned hands, his foot—arguably the least appealing part of his anatomy—looked pasty, with blotches of red, brown and purple where he’d had minor injuries, wires of sinewy veins running over the front, and with the weirdly crooked second toe.
And yet Mark leaned down and kissed the ball of Griff’s foot with his warm, soft lips. “They belong on a prince,” he whispered against toughened skin.
A choked sound left Griffith’s lips, but he didn’t move, didn’t pull away or try to laugh it off. The adoration in Mark’s gaze was so blatant Griffith didn’t have the strength to argue with it. “Not a prince. A dancer,” he whispered.
A Breath of Innocence Page 16
