I was recently put in a situation wherein I had a lot of nearly naked male dancers that I had to watch for almost six hours. I won't lie, I didn't exactly not enjoy it.
Anyway, I ended up writing this because in my head I think it should be cannon. For the sake of this, Kurt's been a dancer for a long time.
Rated M, but it's pretty mild.
(all characters property of FOX, I own nothing),
Enjoy!
He never did like me to see him dance. At least, not in rehearsal. I came to all the recitals, but I was not allowed to come to rehearsal.
"I don't want you to see it until it's perfect." He'd explain when I'd ask him I could sit in on a class. I would nod semi-understandingly, being somewhat of a perfectionist myself, and the conversation generally ended there: I would see him at recitals, always, but I would never see him practice. That was our unspoken rule.
Until recently.
"Hey, when's you're next recital?" I asked casually as I sat on his bed and glanced over to see his current pair of pointe shoes sitting on a chair next to his dance bag. He squirmed, "It's uh...it's not for awhile." He replied vaguely, not looking up at me from where his head rested on my chest.
"I see. So then how come your calender had next Thursday circled in pink?" I asked, reveling in the fact that I knew his color-code system well enough to catch him in a lie. It took him a bit and he fidgeted with a button on my shirt,
"Look...my costume this time is...It's...different." He mumbled, his blue-gray eyes finally meeting mine. He bit his lip self consciously and drew his knees in closer to his chest and my side.
"What do you mean?" I asked, gently skimming the back of his neck with the tips of my fingers. He sighed again, somewhat sadly,
"It's just...it's not like all my other costumes." I was about to tell him that that's what "different" typically means, but his head fell to my chest again as if he were avoiding eye contact. I squinted a little as I recalled his past costumes-they were all either bodysuits or a leotard/tights combo and regardless of what funky design or embellishment they had on them, he'd never complained before.
"I'm sure it's not that bad," I reassured him softly, "Besides, you're beautiful no matter what they put you in." I added, which was true. He snuggled in closer to me and I kissed his hair, which apparently got him talking,
"It's very uncomfortable...I just...I don't want you to see me in it. Or anyone, really. I'm not inviting my dad to this one..." He informed me quietly, his face flushing. I ran a hand up and down his forearm in an attempt at comforting before placing a small kiss to his temple,
"Let me see it." I whispered, trying not to pressure him, which was hard because he'd gotten me all curious. My request was met instantly with a vehement shake of the head,
"No. Absolutely not." He mumbled and swore he said something about 'my family's home' under his breath, but I didn't dwell on it too much. Instead I unraveled myself from around him,
"Please Kurt? It'll make you feel better about having to wear it if I tell you how gorgeous you look in it." I tried to flash him a charming smile. He crossed his arms and shook his head fiercely. I almost gave in and went back to our cuddle session when I spotted his dance bag again.
"It's in there isn't it? In your bag!" I grinned as I hopped off the bed. He quickly darted after me and beat me to it,
"Blaine Anderson. I'm warning you." He snapped, hugging the bag to his chest, his back against the door.I sighed and accepted my defeat until I realized I still had a chance.
I quickly swooped in, planted my hands on his door on either side of his face and pressed my body flush against his, kissing him somewhere between 'passionate' and 'rough'-just the way he liked it. He melted beneath me and let out a little, almost unnoticed groan of surprise as he allowed my tongue entrance. We stood there, mouths dueling for dominance against his bedroom door until we parted for air, at which point I easily slipped the bag away.
"That's so not fair!" He protested huffily, his mind (if anything like mine) still rushing from the previous moment. I motioned to pull the sipped down when he gave in.
"Fine! You can come see me at dress rehearsal!" I cocked my head up and let the bag fall down to my side, "Technically, no one is supposed to come watch, but you can sit in the back if you're quiet. But you cannot, cannot come to performance." He exclaimed. My eyebrows shot up- a rehearsal? He was actually letting me go to a rehearsal? I gingerly passed the bag back to him and he set it on the seat where it belonged before pouncing on me and crashing his lips to mine.
"I can't believe I agreed to this." He muttered, placing a hand to his temple as we entered the auditorium parking lot. I squeezed the other one with mine where they lay on the arm rest between the two front seats,
"It can't be as bad as you think. Like I said, you look good in everything you wear." Specifically I was referring to the sunflower costumed of the spring recital-a lime green body suit with a giant, floppy petal-headdress that he still managed to make look attractive.
He gave me a quick kiss before getting out of the car right outside the entrance to the auditorium and went to go park after he'd insisted that I shouldn't wait for him outside the locker room and wish him good luck, but rather just go ahead and take a seat.
I did so and found a chair in the back where I sat in complete darkness, waiting for the dress rehearsal to begin. The lights came on about ten minutes later, illuminating the stage as a group of toddlers in purple tutus waddled out, clutching each other's hands. A few of the older girls from Kurt's advanced pointe class stood amongst them, attempting to heard them into doing some sort of high-fifth arms and turning around in a circle. A couple of them followed directions, but most of them just went about doing their own thing. A small ginger haired girl on the end plopped herself down and began to suck her thumb and I couldn't help but smile to myself.
The group shuffled offstage to make room for a new ensemble of dancers who were slightly older (performance order is based on age and skill level, Kurt informed me the first time I came to watch him at a recital).
I raised the sleeve of my shirt to check my watch when I heard someone sitting down in the seat next to me,
"I helped direct this one." Kurt said fondly. I turned to look at him and saw that he was wearing a black sweat shirt and matching black leggings, sufficiently concealing the costume he was so worried about me seeing.
"Well, it's lovely," I smiled, raising his hand to my lips and looking into his eyes through the darkness as I softly kissed it, "but I'd really like to see you up there." He smirked at me and even in the absence of light, I could see the blush tinging the tops of his cheeks.
"Soon enough you will," He replied, surprisingly calmly, "I should probably go warm up." He muttered, planting a chaste kiss on my temple before standing and exiting through a side door.
I knew Kurt's ensemble was coming up sometime soon, they were generally the last ones to preform and it seemed like the whole thing was coming to a close as girls my age (in the intermediate pointe class) did one final leap and excited the stage.
The stage lights faded out, save one spotlight on the far left side. I heard the slight 'clomp' noise that pointe shoes make (when walked on as if normal ballet shoes) as someone strode through the darkness of the stage and into the light.
And then my breath hitched and I felt my heart suspend in time. Standing there, under the spotlight, stood a very naked-looking Kurt. He wasn't full on nude, obviously, but the tight flesh-colored spandex briefs he was sporting clothe his groin sure didn't leave much to the imagination. He was up on pointe, his long back arched in a deep port de bras, the light bathing over his lean, muscular, naked chest.
Clutched in his right hand was a wispy, nude colored fabric and as the music began, he circled his arms around and collapsed his chest as the fabric flowed around his expertly carved form like a stream of water. His upper body collapsed and released as he danced, and I could almost feel the defined muscles of his back stretching and contracting and writhing under my hands as he moved with more raw grace than I thought possible for one person to ever attain.
I darted my tongue out to wet my suddenly dry lips as I came back to reality. He was getting ready to jump, I could tell, as he held the fabric in one hand and spread his legs past parallel, the nude streamer flowing behind him in the air as he grand jete'd.
It was at that moment that I realized that he wasn't wearing any tights, his legs were bare and the bulges of lean muscles that popped out in his thighs were Kurt's-completely uncovered. I suddenly felt the urge to run my hands up the inside of his thighs, watching him shiver and moan and contract as my nails raked gently at the sensitive skin. I shifted in my seat as I could practically feel him buck his hips up uncontrollably as my knuckles accidentally brushed across his length and his toned legs clenched as my nails dug in a little harder.
I swallowed in attempt to wet my dry mouth as the stage lights began to flutter on and a few of the other dancers, two girls and a boy, pranced onstage, all three lunging at Kurt fiercely. The boy, whom I noticed was not wearing the nude colored underwear (for lack of a better word) but rather a pair of blood red spandex leggings that cropped at the knee, took hold of the free flowing end of his fabric and yanked Kurt toward him forcefully. Kurt fell to his side where he was hoisted up roughly by two of the girls. They tossed him between each other and he fell limp like a rag doll, but still managed to maintain his deliciously expert form. The boy dipped him over his arm as his thin leg flew up in front of him-he was then shoved back into the ground, at which point the remaining dancers back stage huddled around him so that he was out of my view.
The music crashed and boomed as they moved, demon-like, collapsing their chest and flowing from one pose to the next, still concealing Kurt. At once the music halted, leaving only a sinister chiming of a far off bell as the dancers in red slowly pranced forward in an almost seductive manner, leaving a blonde girl and Kurt (who was now wearing red underwear almost skimpier than the original nude ones) in the middle.
They spun together and Kurt hoisted her up on his hips, her long dancer legs wrapped around his waist. She snaked up his long body and kissed him. The lights fell off the stage once again, leaving the theater in complete blackness. I gulped audibly as the curtain fell and tried to get the searing image out of my mind-one of the 'v' lines on his hips that poked out of his low-slung red piece- and how nice it would be to trace the lines with my tongue as his fingers pull a little on my hair or else twist the sheets as he resists rolling his hips up and whine in desperation. I shifted again in my seat, seriously resisting the urge to palm myself through my slacks. I wet my lips and waited a little until I could actually stand up and walked awkwardly to the advanced pointe group's male dressing room.
I opened the door to see the other two boys pulling on hoodies and hoisting their bags over their shoulders, ready to leave. They nodded hello and probably tried to avoid my rather obviously tented pants, and while normally I'd be embarrassed, I did not give a rat's ass at the time. Instead, I continued through the lockerroom, turning a corner to find Kurt rubbing some lotion between his hands, applying some to his thighs, in nothing but his dance belt. His red dance belt. His red dance belt that was really just a thong string in the back. I inhaled sharply and strode toward him somewhat uncomfortably.
"Don't want chafing." He blushed a bright red as I raised an eyebrow as his hand sunk between his legs, spreading the lotion down the inside of his thighs.
"I see." My breath hitched as he brushed his crotch accidentally.
"So how'd you like it?" He asked, wiping his hands off on a towel, "I mean, it's about innocence and lust and how even the most virginal of souls can be...ravished," his voice cracked a little, "by lust..." He explained slightly breathlessly.
I almost came just by the way he said 'ravished', and I couldn't help myself any longer so I pushed him back against the locker and rolled my hips against his so he could truly get a feel for how well I liked it. His lips crashed against mine hungrily and he eagerly snuck a hand between us, pressing the heel against the head of my erection, making me moan wetly into his kiss.
"Now you see what you're not allowed to come to the actual show?" He breathed as we parted, though I couldn't respond, he was still fondling me through my slacks,
"Imagine getting this turned on packed in an auditorium full of women in their late thirties with video cameras and buttons that say 'Go Jainie!'" He smirked, referencing to the typical "dance moms" as his tongue darted into the shell of my ear.
"You really suck at talking dirty." I grunted as he flashed me a mischievous grin and dropped to his knees, licking his lips as he shoved my slacks and briefs down around my ankles,
"That's not a very nice thing to say to someone who's about to deep throat you."
and it was then that I decided that I would never miss a single dance rehearsal.
So, that's it:)
Have a great day,
~Rhea