At The Ballet

He loved it. The lights went down, the audience hushed, the orchestra flooded the room with layers of sound, and he was soothed. It didn't matter what had gone wrong that day. It didn't matter what he had to deal with the next day. While he was here, he was at peace. Here there was grace and graciousness, and beauty. The ballet was beautiful in the way life could never even hope to be. It calmed him, and enticed him.

Ballet had always been this for Kurt, a comfort and a joy. From the very first time he put on a leotard, from the first time his mother held his hand and opened the door to that first studio, Kurt had been captured. For many years, especially those years just after his mother's death, everything good in his life happened at the ballet. He had stopped dancing when he was about twelve or thirteen. He realized that he didn't have whatever that extra something was that made a principal dancer. Singing had replaced dancing as he started high school, but he had never lost his love for ballet. Every time he sat waiting for the curtains to go up, he remembered that little boy and the feelings came back; peace, welcome, home.

The first thing he had splashed money at when he started to make a decent salary was a car. He bought a car that harnessed a ridiculous amount of power and speed, more speed than any sane person needed in the city. It was elegant, and regal with leather seats that rivaled his couch for comfort. It handled like a dream; responsive in the way a lover should be and very rarely was. It made the journey at least as fulfilling as the destination. The car was six years old now, and although Kurt could easily afford to replace it, he just couldn't bring himself to say good bye.

The second thing he had splurged on was season tickets to the ballet; orchestra seats, front row, on the aisle. He came alone, or he came with friends. He came with family or lovers, boyfriends or clients. He came no matter what. He hadn't missed an opening night in the six years since he purchased his first subscription. He had been a sponsor for four years and a member of the board for the last two. It was his hobby, his passion, and next to the people in his life, it was his greatest love.

Kurt crossed his legs, careful not to wrinkle the Armani. He slipped the program under his seat, no need to read it. He knew what it said. A member of the corps de ballet had been promoted to principal dancer. Tonight was his debut performance in that capacity. The dancer had been with the company for three years. He was talented, and dedicated, and gifted with the ability to make the audience feel, to make them soar with him. He commanded the stage, making it impossible to see anyone else. At least it was impossible for Kurt, but then Kurt had trouble taking his eyes off the man whether he was dancing or not. In the seven months they had been together, Kurt had yet to see Asiel make a move that wasn't graceful, in bed or out of it.

The opening dance failed to hold Kurt's attention. No fault of the dancers, they were as professional and flawless as always. He barely saw them. All his thoughts centered on one man. That man was backstage, stretching through his warm up routine, preparing for his first ever solo. Kurt twitched the crease in his pant leg. He wasn't nervous. Anything could go wrong in a live performance. But he wasn't nervous!

Finally, midway through the ballet, the lines of dancers parted and Asiel stood alone. As the music swelled, he moved centre stage, strong, and sure. By the time he vaulted towards the ceiling, legs extended, arms reaching for the sky, the other dancers had melted away, leaving one man, his man, in the spotlight. Kurt's wasn't the only gasp, as Asiel seemed to hang suspended in midair. Applause burst forth, spontaneous and sincere. Kurt's eyes followed the dancer, how could they not? Perfection expressed in every movement, poetry in every line. God! That body, those legs, those thighs! Kurt knew what they felt like, wrapped around him. Asiel spun and soared, gliding, running, pulsing emotion into the audience with every flick of his hands, every graceful sweep of his arms. He pulled the audience in, holding them, holding them, until the music ended and he stopped suddenly and let them go.

Kurt made his way back stage. He took his time, he'd been through this after the show rush before and he knew his boyfriend wouldn't be able to leave yet. As a principal dancer, Asiel now had his own dressing room, which Kurt had no trouble finding. It was the one with people congested around an open door, laughing and talking and taking turns congratulating Asiel on a magnificent performance. Kurt slipped into the room, and wedged himself into a corner. He was more than content to watch his boyfriend accept the accolades he so deserved. Asiel had removed the stage make-up, but he was still wearing his tights, his chest bare but for the light robe tied at his waist. He kissed and hugged and laughed with friends and relatives and fellow dancers; his eyes lit with happiness and relief. Kurt smiled in reaction to the absolute joy vibrating through 'his' dancer.

Slowly, one by one, and in pairs, the well-wishers trickled out of the dressing room. As the small space cleared Asiel saw Kurt waiting for him, and moved to greet his lover. Kurt shook his head, and indicated that he would wait. Asiel grinned and turned back to the stragglers, herding them tactfully towards the door. Now, all he wanted was Kurt. With one last "Thank you!" Asiel closed the door, and leaned against it, facing the only man who had ever rivaled dance in his heart. "Hey."

Kurt shrugged away from the wall, one hand behind his back, one hand reaching to stroke across Asiel's jaw. "You were perfection tonight. You embodied every hope of what dance should be. I am so fucking proud of you!"

Asiel twined his arms around Kurt's neck. "I could feel you tonight. I closed my eyes backstage and you were there giving me the strength I needed."

"The strength and talent are all yours, but if you think I helped, then I'm glad." Kurt presented Asiel with the rose he had been hiding behind his back, one perfect white rose.

Asiel took the flower, and raised his eyebrows, his lips slipping into a teasing smile. "Just one?"

Kurt looked around the room, taking in the multitude of floral displays. "You don't have enough?"

"Not from you." Asiel pressed into Kurt, ghosting his lips along Kurt's face. "I will never get enough of anything from you."

Kurt took the lips Asiel offered. The rose fell to the floor as they merged into one body. Asiel's tights hid nothing; Kurt knew exactly how much Asiel wanted. He pulled away from the dancer's mouth, letting the answering need show in his eyes. "You didn't change out of your tights."

Asiel shook his head, eyes knowing and smile sly. "I know how much you like them."

Kurt untied the sash on Asiel's robe, and watched as it slid to the floor. "It's not so much that I like the tights." Kurt turned Asiel around, pushing him against the door. "It's how much I like the way your ass looks in them." Kurt covered his boyfriend; his hands on Asiel's ass, his teeth biting across the other man's shoulders.

Asiel hissed out a breath, and dropped his head, leaning into the door. He pushed his arms back, his hands snaking around Kurt's body, reaching for Kurt's ass. Kurt ground his erection against the body beneath him. Asiel spread his legs, and pulled Kurt even closer. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at Kurt. "I want you now, just like this." He nodded to the dressing room mirror. "With you dressed to conquer and me half naked." He pulled on Kurt's hips. "Now!"

Kurt unzipped, and reached for the small tube hidden amid the myriad collection of lotions and creams and stage makeup that littered Asiel's dressing table. "It's your night. Anything you want." He pushed Asiel's tights down, and pressed slicked fingers between ass cheeks that were all muscle.

Asiel moaned and pushed against Kurt's hand. "I want!"

The End