Kirk grabbed a fistful of Mason's jumper and pulled him close. "I said, give up the part."
"What's going on?" It was Cara who had spoken.
A quick glance told Mason that she'd moved to stand close by, her hands planted on her hips. Gemma was just behind her, concern filling her green eyes.
"Nothing," Kirk hissed, letting Mason go. He smoothed out Mason's jumper and patted him on the shoulder. "We were just having a little chat, weren't we, Mason?"
"About?" Cara asked. "Because it didn't look very friendly to me."
"Mason doesn't think he can handle the role of Puck, do you?"
Mason stepped away. He didn't want to make enemies, so he kept his mouth shut.
"Jealous?" Cara asked Kirk.
"Of course not."
"Uh-huh. It looks like you are, from where I'm standing. Back off, Kirk. You'd make a shit Puck, and you know it." She walked up to him and slapped him lightly across the arm. "You'll get a better part next time. Don't sweat it." Then she turned to Mason, smiling. "Congratulations. Prove what you can do, and you'll get promoted for real next season."
Mason half-expected her to walk away, but she stayed where she was, staring between them.
"Thanks," he muttered before pulling his boots on and grabbing his bag. He strode out of the rehearsal room, his heart in his mouth.
"You okay?" Gemma asked, running up behind him.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Kirk's a bully," she said, stating the obvious. "Ignore him."
That was Mason's plan. He'd dealt with people like Kirk back in high school. He knew that just because someone told them to 'back off', it didn't mean they would.
They arrived home at the same time. Mason was just wandering up the pavement as David was stepping out of his classic MG convertible. It was the kind of car that belonged in a garage, but the big Edwardian terraced houses opened up straight onto the street and had no back gardens to speak of. There had probably been more green space when they were built. Now, people bought them because they wanted to live in the area, or, like Mason's landlord, to turn them into flats and make a mint off the rent.
"Well done," David said.
His words pulled Mason to a stop as surely as if David had grabbed hold of him and restrained him. A smile tugged at Mason's lips, quickly stretching into a grin. "Thank you."
"I know you'll do a great job of Puck."
Their gazes locked, and for a moment Mason couldn't breathe. His chest tightened as the dying sunlight flashed across David's glasses, briefly obscuring his dark eyes.
David adjusted his glasses. "I just wanted you to know that you got the part because you deserve it. Ronnie—Veronica—was just as convinced of that as I was."
David hadn't needed to say it, but Mason was glad he had. The confirmation made him feel even better about getting the role, although he did wonder about how well David and Veronica knew each other. He didn't ask the question; it wasn't his business.
"I won't let you down."
David laughed. "I know you won't."
Mason glanced around nervously, checking that no one was around to notice them talking. It was probably a paranoid gesture, but after his encounter with Kirk, he didn't want to give the other dancers any more reason to dislike him.
"Would you like dinner?" he asked. "Cooking for one isn't much fun."
He bit his lower lip as he waited for a response. David had no reason to say yes. Although they'd spent a long time talking each time they'd met, sex had been David's primary motivation for seeking him out. Not that Mason was complaining, but he figured it would be nice to spend some time together that didn't automatically have to result in them both ending up in his bedroom. Or maybe he was overstepping. They weren't a couple, not even close to it. There was no reason for him to even think that David wanted any kind of semi-serious relationship with anyone, let alone him.
"I'd like that," David said, smiling gently. "Shall I grab a bottle of wine to go with the food?"
Mason shook his head. "Not tonight. I was thinking we'd just have dinner." He winced.
"Just dinner?" David raised his eyebrows.
"Is that a problem?" Mason asked hesitantly.
David laughed. "I was teasing. Of course it's not a problem. I enjoy your company." David leaned in close and dropped his voice to a whisper. "I enjoy fucking you, too, but I can cope with an evening of just dinner."
Mason rolled his eyes, refusing to allow David to fluster him any further. He turned and jogged down the steps, glancing back to make sure David had followed him as he fumbled with the key. He let them both into his flat and motioned towards his sofa.
"You might as well make yourself comfortable."
"Want some help?"
"Uh… sure. Don't you want a break from cooking? You must have to cook for yourself all the time, too."
David shrugged. "I might rely on takeaway a little too much."
Mason wandered into the small kitchen space and began grabbing ingredients from the fridge and cupboards. He set David to work on peeling and chopping potatoes while he prepared the vegetables.
"Do you always cook this elaborately?" David asked.
"I'd hardly call a one-pot roast 'elaborate'," Mason snorted.
"I'm more of quick pasta man, myself."
"When you're not eating takeaway?"
"Touché!"
They both laughed.
Mason paused and turned to face David, leaning against the counter. "One of the reasons I left my old company was to take better care of myself."
David pursed his lips, his stare travelling up and down Mason's body. "You were in Emotion in Motion?"
Mason nodded. "Three and a half years of living out of hotel rooms and not being able to cook for myself. It took its toll." He looked down at the floor. "Don't get me wrong, I loved it, but by the time I made the decision to leave, I was constantly exhausted, and I'd lost a lot of weight." He sighed and went back to chopping, not entirely sure why he'd told David all that. He hadn't even told Adam how he was feeling when his best friend had queried how he was, months earlier.
He was aware of David still staring at him, so he hunched his shoulders. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.
"And now?" David asked after a while. "How are you feeling?"
"It's early days," Mason admitted. "I was hoping—am hoping—that the move to BalletEast would stop me from burning out completely."
"Anything I can do?"
Mason shook his head. "I just need to get better at taking care of myself again." He glanced up, meeting David's intense stare. "I won't let it affect my dancing," he added quickly. "It never affected my dancing."
"Maybe you need to take things easy this season," David suggested. "If Puck is too much for you—"
"No!" Mason put the knife down and gripped the edge of the counter with his hands. "We both know I can't afford to stand still in my career. I've got ten years left, maybe fifteen, if I'm really lucky." He forced himself to look at David again. "Being settled is helping. I'm already feeling less fatigued."
It seemed to take David an eternity to speak again. Was he thinking over what Mason had told him as a choreographer or as a concerned neighbour? Mason hoped the latter. He wouldn't be able to stand it if he was stripped of the part of Puck.
"I won't let anything stop this season being successful for me," he said in a determined tone. "I'll prove you and Veronica made the right choice in giving Puck to me."
David stepped close to him and wrapped his arms around Mason's waist, pulling him close. "I don't doubt that. But burnout is a serious thing."
"I know. I won't let it happen."
"Just… keep talking to me," David said. "I want you to shine, but not at the expense of your health. Nothing is worth running yourself into the ground for, not even dancing."
Mason pressed his lips into a grim smile. "Like I said, I'm feeling better. And if I start to feel worse again, you'll be the first person to know. I promise."
"I'm glad you felt that you could talk to me about this," David said with an odd expression on his face.
Mason pursed his lips but decided not to ask as David pulled away and went back to his task of preparing the potatoes. He felt better for letting it out and confiding in someone. He knew this was a make-or-break season for him. He couldn't work any less hard, so taking care of himself had to be enough to pull him out of the rough patch he was experiencing. He adored dancing. The thought of having to give it up, even temporarily, sickened him.
"Are you okay?" David asked.
Mason realised he'd been standing still and staring into space. "Yeah," he said, returning to his own chopping task. "Thanks for listening. I know that conversation went a bit beyond our relationship of neighbours with benefits."
"Anytime," David said softly.
And Mason was pretty sure he meant it.
Chapter Ten
David
David stood by his window, staring out at the storm clouds that were gathering. Moments before, the sky had been a brilliant shade of blue, not dissimilar to the colour of Mason's eyes. He was nursing a tumbler of whisky in one hand, the amber-coloured liquid sloshing around every time he shifted his weight.
He'd seen Mason return home an hour or so earlier. They hadn't arranged to meet that evening, both agreeing it was unhealthy to spend all their spare time together. Not that David didn't want to. The more time he spent with Mason, the more he realised he was falling for him; that it wasn't just his cock doing the longing, but his heart and his head, too.
It had been five weeks since serendipity had led him to be coming home at the exact time Mason had been struggling with his furniture. It didn't seem like a long time, but Mason had really burrowed under his skin.
He sipped at the whisky, savouring the smoky taste as he sloshed it around in his mouth, letting the warming liquid gradually trickle down his throat.
The ballet was taking shape as David's vision slowly became reality. For the most part, the dancers were good to work with, and he was pleased with the casting decisions he and Veronica had made.
Mason hadn't disappointed. He'd thrown himself into the role of Puck, taking direction while making the part his own. David tried not to worry about him. Mason knew his own limits, and he certainly didn't look like he was struggling with his health. He seemed to have limitless energy, and not just on the dance floor.
Mason didn't disappoint in the bedroom, either. However, they'd started spending more time enjoying each other's company, not necessarily falling into bed straight away, if at all. Gradually, Mason was becoming more than David's fuck partner; he was becoming David's lover. David wanted, desperately, to take their relationship a step further and to introduce Mason to his kinks.
The thought prompted him to down the rest of the whisky, as if drinking would give him some amount of Dutch courage.
In the past, he'd been able to gauge whether the partner he was with was likely to be interested in being his sub, but Mason was different. For all that he was an open book in so many ways, in others he was still a mystery to David. He was also much younger than any of David's previous partners and much less experienced. David honestly couldn't figure out if broaching the subject would send Mason running for the hills or into his arms, and he didn't want to risk pushing the young man away.
As lightning forked across the sky, he wandered over to the dresser and poured himself another whisky. He took it straight, never over ice; diluted whisky was a crime in his eyes. He returned to the window, watching as heavy raindrops burst from the sky. Thunder rumbled overhead, a delayed answering call to the lightning. From the thickness and shade of the clouds and the way it felt like it was the middle of the night, David guessed the storm was pretty set in.
He knew from experience that people who had no experience with BDSM often had completely the wrong idea. He had no idea what Mason knew about it, if anything. He suspected nothing. Mason was an energetic lover, but David was always the one to suggest they try something different. Not that he suggested it often. He'd actually been surprisingly content with straightforward sex, enjoying the connection, especially as they'd got closer on an emotional level.
But being a Dom was a part of who he was, and he wanted to share that aspect of himself with Mason. However, the time had never felt right. They'd been too absorbed in other topics of conversation or too wrapped up in each other after making love. He'd gazed upon Mason's blissed-out face and held back, but he knew he couldn't keep doing that. Denying who he was and what he enjoyed would only put a strain on their relationship.
And if Mason wasn't interested? David wasn't sure how he'd feel. Yes, his feelings were growing deeper for Mason by the day, but he wasn't sure he could deny his desires and fantasies for anyone. He'd tried with other lovers, and it hadn't worked. Eventually, they'd ceased satisfying him, and he'd moved on. That wasn't to say that his relationships with men and women who had wanted to be his sub had been any more successful, but they had broken down for many other reasons.
He kept watching the rain as he drank, the way it struck the pavement and bounced up again, like millions of tiny needles scattering from the sky.
Maybe he needed to give Mason a taste of what it was to be a sub. Nothing drastic, nothing that they'd have to talk about beforehand. He could just boss Mason around and see how he took to it. If he responded well, then David would know that Mason would be receptive to at least hearing him out.
The lights flickered and went out. He sighed. Blackouts weren't uncommon on the street during electrical storms. For that very reason, he kept a couple of torches handy. He made his way to the cupboard under the stairs and fished them out, turning one on. He was about to set it down on the coffee table, facing upwards to bounce the light off the ceiling, but paused. Would Mason be prepared for blackouts? Probably not. He rubbed his chin. Taking a torch over would be the neighbourly thing to do.
A smile spread across his lips. Who was he trying to fool? He didn't want to be neighbourly; he wanted Mason. And a dark, stormy night would be a wonderful backdrop for showing Mason who was boss.
He grabbed his raincoat and huddled into it as he ran the short distance from his front door to Mason's. He took extra care on the steep steps, guessing they might be slippery. Both torches in hand, he banged on the door. Rain dripped off his nose despite having his hood pulled up. He was relieved when Mason opened the door, then his heart skipped as his gaze fell on the young man. He had a towel wrapped around his waist but was otherwise naked, his hair wet with traces of suds in. He must have been in the shower when the electricity had failed, which had probably been one hell of a shock.
"I didn't know if you had a torch," David said above the din of the rain.
"Thanks. Come in."
David stepped inside, and Mason slammed the door shut behind him, muffling the sound of the rain. David pushed his hood down. His glasses were misting up, so he took them off and wiped them with his sleeve.
"Glasses are such a pain," he said with a laugh. "When I was dancing, I wore contact lenses, but I can't be bothered with them most of the time."
He already knew that Mason found his glasses hot, which was why he kept them on as much as possible when they slept together.
"Do you have a torch?" David asked.
"Just my phone," Mason mumbled, gesturing to where he'd left it on the kitchen counter.
The bright light from the screen shone upwards. Mason strode over to it and turned the app off as David switched the second torch on and set them both down, pointing upwards so the light splashed on the white ceiling and was reflected back down. It didn't give them much light—just enough to see by—and cast weird shadows over both their bodies.
"It looks like you were expecting me," David said, licking his lips as he let his gaze wander over Mason again.
Mason laughed. "Not exactly. I'm freezing. Let me go throw some clothes on."
That wasn't David's plan at all. He waited until Mason had turne
d and taken a couple of steps towards his bedroom door.
"Drop the towel," David ordered, his voice deep and husky.
Mason froze.
David's heart thundered in his chest. It felt like make-or-break time. Either Mason would react in a positive manner, or he'd laugh in David's face and go get dressed to keep himself warm.
"Drop the towel," he repeated, his voice commanding.
After another moment's hesitation, Mason did as he was told.
Chapter Eleven
David
David was beyond glad Mason had dropped the towel. He stared at Mason's naked body, at the way his back sloped into his waist, at that pale, firm arse that he longed to touch, kiss, bite, or spank. He shivered with anticipation, knowing he'd have to rein in most of his desires until he'd had a chance to talk them through with the irresistible young man. But at that moment in time, he didn't want to talk. He just wanted to have Mason. To give him the tiniest taste of what it was to submit. To devour him. To fuck him.
"Don't turn around," David said.
He smirked as Mason's whole body was wracked by a shiver, which he hoped was as delicious to feel as it was to watch. Was Mason used to games of power play? He'd doubted it after their first encounter. The way Mason's eyes had widened and his pupils had shrunk when David pinned his hands above his head indicated it was an entirely new experience for him. But he hadn't resisted or asked David to stop. And now… He'd dropped the towel, maybe not instantly, but he had done as he was told, and that gave David hope that Mason would be willing to experiment with the right man. With him.
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