Limerence (Famous Young Things): Chapter 6

For the rest of the week, Felix and I keep our distance, though there are still a lot of hard stares and withering glares.

He continues to execute his combinations perfectly; flawless fluid movements across the floor that I have to force myself not to smile at. On Thursday he wears the smallest pair of dance shorts I’ve ever seen—pale dove grey against smooth golden skin. He has a scattering of freckles on his upper thighs, and the sight of them makes my tongue twitch against my teeth.

He was late to class twice more this week, sycophantic apologies and charming smiles to everyone as he takes to the floor without barely a stretch. When Fen berates him for it, he says, “You know I’m always all stretched out, Madame.” Fen rolls her eyes and points at a spot on the side she wants him to take. From there, she counts him into a series of clinical sautés et changements.

On Friday, the principals and corps are going out after class; I hear them discuss it as they change into a selection of smarter outfits as opposed to their usual post-workout clothes. I watch Felix pull on a black mesh muscle top with ribbons of gold running through it, and tight black jeans with rips in the legs. He’s painting a line of gold onto his eyelids too. The effect, when he lifts his head, is that of an Egyptian pleasure slave. I try hard not to stare.

“You up for it, Savini?” Jesse, a talented American soloist calls out. Taylor-Brooke’s eyes snap to me, mouth tightening with barely hidden rage. I wonder what he’d do if I said yes. I think about it to piss him off.

“Ah, I don’t think it’s really my scene,” I say, levelling a look at Felix as I zip up my running top. I head for the door. “You boys enjoy yourselves, though.”

I hear him mutter something as I pass, but I can’t make it out.

When I get home, sweating and breathless, I make a quick dinner of chicken and rice, which I eat in front of the TV before taking a long hot shower.

When I look at the clock and find it’s only 9:30pm, I start feeling antsy. Or rather, horny. I’ve been horny most of the day, honestly. Most of the week, really.

I open the app on my phone. I haven’t looked at it since I got here; I don’t use it often at all, but I suppose it makes sense to check out what’s on offer.

I’ve been scrolling for around ten minutes when a guy with a mop of dark blonde curls and light-coloured eyes stops me. He grins at the screen with a row of cute white teeth, the one in the front chipped ever so slightly. He’s 2km away and he’s online.

I open his profile, click the flame icon, and wait.

The intercom rings just under an hour later, and the doorbell screen shows ‘Jack’ with his hood pulled up over his head and a backpack over one shoulder as he bounces from one foot to the other. I buzz him in and go wait by the door. He comes springing out of the elevator with his head down, eyes on his phone. When he’s a few feet away, he looks up, eyes widening a little as he scans me. He makes no effort to hide his delight. This happens often since I don’t use my face on the app, just my body.

A lot of the guys who turn up assume it’s because I’ve not got a lot to offer in the looks department, so when they find out that’s not entirely the case, this is usually their reaction.

“Fuck, please tell me you’re Nick,” Jack says, offering me that toothy grin.

“I’m Nick.”

“Well, my day just got a lot better.” He pulls his hood back to reveal the mop of messy curls, which he attempts to tame with his hand. I step back from the door to invite him in, closing it behind him.

“Nice place, too, you just move in?”

“Yes, I got here on Monday.”

He turns to smile at me. “Fuck, you’re American as well? Please tell me you have a small cock.”

I raise an eyebrow. “You want me to have a small cock?”

He slips off his backpack and sets it down on the sofa, then tries to flatten his hair again. I wish he wouldn’t. He looks a little older than he did in his photo.

“Yeah, I mean no.” He waves a hand at me. “Just, well, look at you.”

“I was kind of hoping you’d do more than look.”

He smirks. “Where abouts in the States are you from?”

“California.” It’s the most generic accent and never raises any doubts when I say it.

“Cool.” He looks around the apartment, at the bed beyond the sliding door.

I ask, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Um, no. I’m actually running late as it is, so…”

“Another date?”

“Ha, actually no. Work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m a nurse.”

I nod, impressed.

“You?”

“I work in banking.” I hadn’t known what I was going to say before I said it, I never do. This isn’t a date anyway, and he doesn’t really care, though he tries his hardest to look interested.

“So… where do you want me?”

I point towards the couch. When I’m seated, I lift one of the cushions and put it on the floor between my legs, then give Jack an inviting look. Pale blue eyes alight with desire, he comes toward me and lowers himself to his knees. He fixes a very determined look on the space between my legs before running a hand up my thigh.

“You’re really fucking hot, Nick,” he says.

“So are you.”

He grins, showing me his chipped tooth.

“Mind if I see what’s in here?” He fondles my balls through my sweats.

“Not at all. It’s all yours.”

“Fuck,” he gasps when I slide my hand into his hair and fist it tight, pulling his head towards my cock.



Friday morning, I arrive at the student entrance a little before seven, the streets of central London still busy despite the early hour. I’m checking my phone for the code when someone comes whirring past me on a bike, practically forcing me out of their way and into the door. As I turn to glare at the idiot, I’m surprised to find it’s Felix. He rides a bike? It surprises me for some reason, the incongruity of it, I think. I assumed he got dropped off at the main door by limousine. I’m not sure what I’m more surprised at: the fact he rides a bike or that he’s here as early as I am. I sort of pride myself on being the first here and the last to leave, and every day last week, I had been.

He brings his bike—which looks to be brand-new—to a skidding stop and climbs off, pretending he hasn’t seen me.

Then he’s striding towards me with his bag over his shoulder and a look of mild irritation on his (perfect) face. I’m a little stunned by it and can only stare as he gets closer.

“What are you looking at?” He scowls.

“Nice bike,” I remark.

He smirks. “Birthday present from daddy.”

“How old are you?” Spoiled fucking brat.

“Aww, don’t be jealous, Nicky. When’s yours? Maybe if you’re a good boy, you’ll get one too?” He winks as he reaches across me—his shower gel, sweet and fresh, floods my nose—and punches in the code, the door unlocking loudly before swinging open. He shoulder bumps me aggressively as he passes and strides down the dark corridor towards the men’s locker room.

Mercifully, there are a couple of others in there when I arrive, bleary-eyed and yawning as they greet Felix. They lift their chins to greet me, eyes guarded, and I give them a faint smile and head for my locker.

While it’s been years since I was a new guy anywhere, it’s not unfamiliar or unexpected. Ballet companies are extremely close-knit, especially where newcomers are concerned. But really, I’m not their biggest threat. They’re each other’s. Because everyone here is fighting to survive, trying to get noticed, trying to take the next lead spot. It’s like a violently competitive pit of vipers.

I’ve done my time in the pit.

Now it’s me and Felix hissing and fighting it out, and I don’t see either of us backing off.

One, a good-looking Black guy with a thigh tattoo, is named Jesse. He’s a soloist and probably the next most talented at the company after myself and Felix. His entrechat is the most immaculate I’ve ever seen, and I know he’s been Felix’s number two for a while.

The other guy, striking, with red hair and freckles—Charlie, I think—looks at Felix like he’s some kind of god among men.

They’re talking about the upcoming gala—a forty-minute showpiece performance in front of the sponsors, potential sponsors, and the board in a couple of weeks. Aside from the summer and winter programmes, it’s the highlight of the company calendar.

The corps and principals each have their own sections. Felix and I both have solos. As their newest member, I’d have a longer slot near the end; I’d already decided on the Bluebird Variation from Sleeping Beauty. Felix has chosen Siegfried from Swan Lake. A solid choice, if a little predictable. He’s won a lot of competitions with it, though never against me.

The gala wasn’t a competition, but since they’d announce the casting for the summer production the Monday after it, it was an audition of sorts.

He should have chosen Paquito. I’d cried once watching him perform that. It was the year he’d won the worlds. I hadn’t been competing that year. If he’d asked my opinion, I’d have told him to dance the Paquito Variation. But he hadn’t asked.

I’m prepared to eat lunch alone like I do every other day, but a few minutes after I sit down in the corner, Ava Sheridan flops down in front of me, cross-legged and with a warm smile. She’s eating carrot sticks from a Ziploc bag.

“Mind if I join you?” she asks after she’s already gotten comfortable. A few people are staring, though notably Felix isn’t in the room.

“Your funeral.” I shrug. “Won’t your bff mind?”

“His bark is worse than his bite. I’ll live.” She crunches down on another carrot. “So, how are you settling in?”

“Fine.”

“You like London?”

“It’s fine.”

“Wow, you’re a bit of a chatterbox, aren’t you?” She smiles. “You never came out with us on Friday; you were the only lead not there. How do you expect to make friends if you don’t put in the effort?”

I level a look at her. “Is there something you want, Ava?”

She shrugs and continues chewing. “I’m just trying to get to know you, Nicoló. Nothing nefarious about that, is there?”

“If you and Felix weren’t joined at the hip, I might believe you.”

She laughs at this. “He’s not my keeper. Well, actually…”

“What is it you want to know?” I sigh before biting the boiled egg I’m holding in half.

“Well, how about why you’re here? You said you’d never leave Romasco. Your heart and soul were in that company, you said.”

I remember that interview. I’d meant it too.

“Things change.”

She gives me a shrewd look, like she knows I’m lying. “Mmmm, I’m sure they do. So, anyway, we’re having a little party at our place this Saturday, Felix and mine. Sort of belated—okay, very belated—birthday gathering for His Majesty. You’re welcome to come.”

My face rearranges itself entirely, and I make a point of glancing behind me before looking back at Ava.

“Excuse me?” I check. “You’re inviting me to his party? At his house? To celebrate his birthday?”

“Hey, it’s my house too. Actually, that’s not true, but I do live there.”

“Not for much longer.”

She laughs. “Ha, you’re actually kinda funny.” She shuffles closer to me using her ass and swipes a section of hair back from her face as she says, quietly, “Look, he’s not that terrifying. And for what it’s worth, I think this stupid rivalry you two have is, well, bloody stupid. You’re adults. You are, at least. So come over, bring a bottle of good rosé, wish him a happy birthday, and let’s see where it gets us.”

I stare at her, waiting for the punchline of this very English joke I’m not understanding to reach its pinnacle. But her expression remains open, friendly, and genuine.

Before I have time to think about it, I hear myself saying, “What time on Saturday?”