The other dancers noticed the design of the cropped jumper Kyoko sported upon showing up to evening practice. It was a Jeanne D'Arc exclusive in shimmering black cashmere with clever holes at the ends of the sleeves that allowed her thumbs to poke through. She claimed she saved up to buy it. A celebratory treat for her promotion to soloist.
But it was not the truth. The truth is he gave it to her and she'd been avoiding wearing it for weeks. Until today, because today forced a necessity, a necessity created by the very person who gifted it to her. How devilishly cunning of him.
While it barely covered her chest, it was her shoulders and arms that mostly benefited from this ill-gotten token. Shoulders that burned as she stretched along the barre, each pull of muscle shouting echoes into her brain of the night before. An agonising arabesque felt nothing like the positions she'd been in a mere six hours prior. All traces of bruises and bites were neatly concealed by cashmere, spandex, and lycra because no one else need know.
No one else need know how artfully he enervated her entire body, wringing every last sigh and moan from it until they both collapsed. How his tongue twirled chaînés up her leg in search of its prize only for her to hook it over his shoulder once he'd found it. How he gripped her, lifted her, never letting her fall despite her own body begging for it. How he fucked into her, hard and hot and hungry, like the only salvation he needed was their release.
Kanae had her suspicions, of course. Warily, she eyed Kyoko throughout practice, looking for any sign of deviance from the norm. But Kyoko let nothing slip, landing every jeté and brisé as if her entire body wasn't excruciatingly sore. A mask of calm was firmly fitted to her face with each repetition.
It was the mask itself which gave her away in the end. Kyoko knows it, knows Kanae down to every twitch of her eye. She can tell by the purposeful glare thrown in her direction and awaits the inevitable. Once practice ended, her best friend pulled her aside.
"What have you done?" Kanae demanded.
"Only what I willingly allowed."
"You've only just made soloist, why would either of you court danger like this?"
"Because I want him and he wants me." Kyoko lifted her chin in defiance. "And I've already starved myself of too many things to get this far."
But not him. Never him. Because their bodies craved each other. And, even though she feared her heart would soon follow suit, she could not bring herself to care. Kanae left her, reluctant and chastising but ultimately resigned for just as Kyoko knew her, she knew Kyoko in return.
Kyoko capitalised on having an empty room and empty studio and peeled herself out of her dancewear, wincing at the tight fabric that dragged along her bruises. Spandex swapped for cotton, she sighed in relief at the soft, comfortable joggers that fell wide along her legs and slouched at her ankles. A few more stretches before collecting her things felt both an indulgence and a necessity so she approached the barre.
She lost herself in the groans and whines each time the curling and extension of her body produced a twinge or ache. Each one a sharp reminder of the previous evening. A shining badge of honour and a searing brand of pleasure all at the same time. Each one jealously guarded and pridefully worn.
So lost was she that she failed to recognize the soft open and close of the practice room's door. It's only when she finished that she noticed the intrusion to her solitude. He was there. Leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed in a black shirt tight enough to require no imagination.
Not that she needed one, really. She was well aware of what that shirt concealed, had run her fingers, lips, and tongue along much of it. She knew of the scratches she'd etched into his back and the purpling mark she madly sucked onto his right shoulder. Daring to look lower, her mouth remembered the feel of him, pushed far as he could go while her lips stretched and slid around him and her throat burned.
"I thought I'd find you here" The sound of his voice ran through her like a current that set her whole being alight.
"Ren," she whispered.
"Practice wasn't too painful, I hope."
"Depends on your tolerance level, I suppose."
He frowned, letting his arms drop. Her hand gripped the barre when he moved away from his spot and toward her. The ache in her joints was nullified by a powerful hollowness. Six months prior, neither of them would have followed the invisible pull that drew them together. They'd only just reached friendly terms and easy conversation at that point. But that was then.
"You can tell me to be gentle, you know," he said once he was close, slow hands reaching for her.
"I'm not made of glass." She swallowed hard. "I don't expect to be treated as such."
"But if you want to be, you have only to ask."
Ren's arms encircled her and she'd pushed her head into his chest before it even registered. She felt it move beneath her with each breath. They fit together too well, too easily and she knew it to be both dangerous and intoxicating. It was only a matter of time before she forgot herself and hoped for more.
"Why me?" she asked instead.
"Why not?" he countered, the words thrumming from his chest into her ears.
"You're a senior principal with the company. Surely there were other options than me."
"There were," he said. "But not better."
"How does fucking a newly minted soloist constitute a better option?"
She was challenging him. But he didn't seem keen on backing down. He tilted her chin up with a gentle hand until her eyes met his. She drowned in the fondness she found there.
"I don't think you're ready for that answer."
Their lips met once, twice. By the fourth meeting, her hands were fisted in his shirt while his softly caressed her face. The barre pressed deliciously into her back. She pressed against it in return to better arch herself into him as his tongue curled in her mouth.
Hands found their way under her blouse, gliding feather light along her torso. Every spot he had ravaged the night before was treated to careful touches and tender petting. The gentleness of it made her want to cry. She gripped him tighter, pressing against the hardness she knew she'd caused and baiting him to fiercely take her.
Ren stalwartly refused. Choosing instead to slow even further, his kisses turned languid and his touches barely there. When she shucked her bottoms in frustration, his fingers offered only the most benign contact. A whisper of a brush here and there and no more than a single digit to test the waters that already flowed freely. It drove her insane with want, stoking a fire that could burn the entire studio.
Somewhere between a thousand kisses, gradually bolder touches, and the discarding of another pair of trousers he had had the wherewithal to remember the necessity of protection. Kyoko's desire-addled mind couldn't remember when he'd done it but was grateful all the same. Barrier in place, he was poised to enter her but, even with that, he bided his time. Raising her leg in a standing split, she propped her heel on his shoulder and begged.
When he finally acquiesced, a satisfied hiss escaped her as she bowed backwards over the barre. He followed her, holding her leg in place and curving his body around hers like a shield as he pressed into her with zero urgency. As her head fell back, she caught sight of them, intertwined as they were, in the mirrors along the wall. A tableau of passion wrought in erotic choreography.
Kyoko was the only one looking, however. Ren was focused only on her body as if it were a sacred artefact. As if their joining was akin to a miracle. She could feel the threat of tears again and harshly blinked them away.
The feeling of weightlessness was not only from the constant yet unhurried pace at which he stroked inside her. It was also the way he held her that ensured she bore none of her weight on her own. His arms flexed with each thrust and it was all she could do not to stare at them. To not wonder at how he valiantly carried her even as he steadily pushed her ever closer to the edge.
When she reached it, he was not long behind. The room echoed with their chorus of cries, a gratification afforded only by the fact that it was well soundproofed. Gingerly, he set her back on the ground yet refused to release her fully. His embrace held firm, bolstered only by the barre until they both found their breath again.
Once dressed, she gathered her belongings and her courage. Kyoko couldn't fathom where nerves could have developed when the person she approached had been inside her mere minutes before. Stopping just before him where he waited at the door with rumpled hair he hadn't bothered to fix, she took a breath. She took a chance.
"So, when will I be ready for that answer?" she asked. He smiled, small and resigned.
"When you can admit the one thing in your heart that you've continued to deny."
"Which is?"
The fondness was back and in full force. It drew her in, swallowing her whole and subsuming her entire being into his. The hollowness had also returned but it sat squarely in her chest. A void that could not be filled through any tangible means. He closed the distance to press the softest kiss to her forehead and she swore she could hear the sound of something cracking inside her.
"That this was always more than just physical."
fin.