Mad & Marvelous

by Elizabeth Varlet

  Jae was his savior.

  Quiet and stoic, Jae never said a word to the others about their extra time. And the fact that he acted like he wasn’t secretly tutoring Hop afterhours made him the greatest friend ever.

  “You’re worried for no reason,” Jae said one day during their private session.

  “I’m the weakest dancer.”

  Jae’s dark eyebrow rose. “Who said that?”

  “Reality. I don’t need you to sugarcoat shit for me. You’re not Willy-fucking-Wonka. Just show me how to keep up with the rest of you.”

  “What’s wonka?”

  Hop shook his head. “Never mind, show me the second eight count in the third verse. I keep messing it up with the last one.”

  Jae showed him and then counted down for Hop. “Where’s the problem?”

  “Forget it,” Hop said. After that, he’d stopped trying to make Jae understand, but he kept practicing. He practiced until he got blisters on his toes.

  Then every night he’d tape his feet and get on stage like nothing bothered him.

  No pain, no gain. Isn’t that what people said? In Hop’s experience, the saying held the weight of truth. Along with the brain-stealing relationship trouble, his dance stress put Hop in a snappy mood. It didn’t go unnoticed.

  Wednesday night before their first performance, the Boyz were discussing what Ansel would serve on their Sunday night gathering that weekend.

  “Fitch’s mom gave me her recipe for beet risotto with truffle oil.” Ansel applied his mascara like it was second nature and blinked into the mirror.

  Beside him, Z smacked his freshly glossed lips. “You guys are so fucking sweet you make my teeth hurt.”

  Ansel didn’t bat an eye as he picked up his blush. “Uh-huh, you must have a dentist on speed dial, bitch. When you look at your detective your eyes go syrupy.”

  “You’re not fooling anyone, Z,” Tam teased gently as he fluffed his hair. “Love makes life so much sweeter.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, give it a rest will you? So you’re all living your happily-ever-after dreams, congrats, but some of us are living on Earth, not clouds.” Hop stomped to his bag and yanked out his top. There was an empty chasm in his chest and it ached. Fuck, it ached. And he didn’t understand why.

  “Oookay.” Ansel was the first to break the long silence following Hop’s outburst.

  “Someone’s fighting the green monster.”

  “Fuck you, Z.” Hop turned on his friends, arms akimbo.

  “Honey, you’re so green you could have gills.”

  “Hop’s right,” Tam said. “We’re being insensitive.”

  “Uh, no.” Ansel put a hand on Tam’s shoulder. “I know you’re trying to help, but all three of us deserve our newfound happy. We’re in steady, healthy relationships. If Hop can’t handle it, he’s not really a friend.” That last bit was said directly to Hop and was full of reprimand.

  Hop’s vision blurred and he spun to wipe his eyes with a mumbled apology. Ansel was right. It was awful of him to be mad at his friends for being happy. That wasn’t what real friends did.

  He should be celebrating their every small victory, not wallowing in his own pain and frustration. But it was hard when inside he was coming to terms with his true essence.

  He couldn’t deny it anymore and no longer wanted to—he was a submissive and he belonged to Rafe.

  No one else would ever see him on his knees. He’d found his place.

  Finally, he was whole.

  But he had no clue how to deal with this revelation.

  Twenty minutes later, they took the stage. His gaze lifted to the rafters and the comforting shadow of Rafe. All Hop’s anxiety disappeared under Rafe’s commanding watch. The sense of protection filled all the cracks in his confidence.

  So he danced.

  For Rafe. For however long they had left.

  * * *

  Backstage later, his phone buzzed a familiar tune and he literally leaped from the chair in order to dig through his bag.

  “Jesus,” Z said, eying him with suspicion.

  Hop took his phone into the hall.

  Go to the bathroom.

  His heart purred with glee as he typed out a reply.

  Yes, sir.

  He headed toward the private unisex restroom the performers used. It wasn’t exactly a discreet location. It was at the end of a long, narrow hall that led from one end of the building to the other with the mechanical controls for the lights, lifts, and stage along with the DJ’s station in the middle. It had frequent traffic. It’d be a tall order to keep their secret if Rafe thought to fuck him in the single stall.

  Hop went anyway.

  A group of employees waited at the end of the hall. Right before he reached them, a hand grabbed his elbow and pulled him into the thick velvet curtains that lined one side of the hall, separating the main room from backstage. It was pitch black, but he didn’t make a sound.

  The rush of blood to his cock made him dizzy with want as Rafe’s heat smothered his back.

  “I love the color of that lipstick,” Rafe said in his ear. The fact that he was so close was the only reason Hop could hear him above the music. Rafe pressed a hard cock into Hop’s scantily clad ass. “And those fucking shoes.” Another grind, harder this time. “They drive me wild.”

  Hop circled his arms around Rafe’s head allowing him to caress and fondle however—wherever—he wanted.

  “Good.”

  Rafe’s fingers found his nipples and pinched. “I want to fuck you until you don’t remember your name.”

  Hop pushed his ass back in invitation. He didn’t care that there was only a soft barrier between him and an audience. All he wanted, in that moment, was Rafe’s touch. Rafe’s cock. Rafe’s anything.

  It was instinctual now, yielding to Rafe’s will. It came automatically with one look, one word, one touch, Hop was a puddle of goo to be molded.

  “Please, sir.”

  “You want that too, don’t you?” Rafe tweaked his nipples again, and the shock of it twisted Hop’s balls.

  “Yes. Fuck me.”

  “You’d stick your ass out right here and let me drill you good, wouldn’t you?”

  Hop groaned his answer, thrusting his ass against Rafe’s cock.

  “That’s a good pet.” One of Rafe’s hands slipped beneath the waist of Hop’s shorts and cupped his erection. “You’re so hard and ready for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fuck,” Rafe groaned long and tortured as he rubbed against Hop’s ass and stroked Hop’s cock as much as the restrictive fabric allowed. It wasn’t enough. Hop needed more.

  “Please, Rafe.”

  “Hush.” A nip to his earlobe as Rafe shoved the shorts down around Hop’s knees. The group near the bathroom moved, voices rising as they neared. Hop and Rafe both froze within their cocoon of darkness and heat. The disruption was gone in moments, but his cock leaked a steady stream.

  He’d come close to being found with his pants down, literally. The shock and humiliation flooded him with adrenaline and desire—a volatile mix that only Rafe could defuse.

  Rafe’s thumb pressed hard into Hop’s piss slit, rubbing the precome into the sensitive skin of his head. “They almost saw how horny you get for me, pet.” Flick, swirl, squeeze. Hop’s cock was a toy in Rafe’s talented grip. “And you loved the danger of it, didn’t you?” Two quick jerks brought Hop to his toes.

  His head fell back to Rafe’s shoulder as he humped into that delightful fist. “Yes.”

  Rafe licked and bit at his neck. It was a different kind of danger, but it was just as sweet.

  “You’re kinky as fuck. I’m keeping you.” It was a whisper, full of pleasure and warmth. It slid over Hop like honey.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don
’t thank me yet, pet.” He moved away a little and there was a rustle of fabric. A snap of buttons and the telltale sound of a zipper.

  Hop swallowed a pool of saliva. With the music drowning out the world and the curtains shutting out any light, Hop’s senses heightened. Every brush of skin was a lick of lava that went right to his asshole and kissed his balls. He was in spasms of pleasure and Rafe hadn’t even penetrated him yet.

  Rafe’s heat returned and now his bare cock was a brand in Hop’s crease. But it wasn’t Rafe’s hand that circled his cock this time. Something cool and silky slid over his length, feather light. Over and over again, Rafe dragged it across his exposed flesh.

  “You’re going to wear my tie for the rest of the night,” Rafe said, wrapping the soft fabric around Hop’s cock three times. He held the two ends and pulled, and whatever knots he’d tied tightened.

  Hop’s head swam at the eroticism of the moment. Rafe’s tie.

  The same thing he’d used to blindfold him that first night now gift wrapped his cock in an impromptu cage of Rafe’s devious designs. Rafe’s grip on the two loose ends never wavered as he fucked between Hop’s ass cheeks.

  It didn’t take long before Hop was floating again in that elusive golden paradise only Rafe could give him. Contentment settled over him. Yes. This was it. This was what he’d needed. This was what he’d been missing.

  Just this.

  “I’m going to come on your ass. You’ll wear that too. Won’t you, pet?”

  “Yes, sir.” God, yes. He wanted Rafe’s come. He wanted to bathe in his scent. He wanted to be owned.

  He wanted to be marked.

  Yes. To carry proof of the passion Rafe unleashed in private, to have that with him always, to be able to see it when he was alone so it could keep his fears at bay. Hop tipped his head to the side. Rafe’s lips pressed into his skin, his tongue flicked near Hop’s earlobe.

  “Do it,” Hop said. “Please.” His fingers clawed into the back of Rafe’s head.

  “Do what?” Rafe’s breathing was harsh, his thrusts—not hard, exactly, but powerful.

  The tie around Hop’s cock was like a leash, it pulled Hop’s length straight up so the tip rubbed against his belly. With each forward drive of Rafe’s hips, the fabric rubbed him like the sweetest fist.

  “Bite me, suck me, mark me.”

  Rafe’s movements grew erratic.

  “You’re mine,” he said, and then he bit.

  Hot spunk landed over Hop’s back and ass as Rafe came, teeth clamped on the thickest part of his neck. He’d never felt more prized and precious than he did in that moment.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  With instructions to leave everything exactly where Rafe left them, Hop finished the night at Switch. He’d performed their next routine, as best as he could, while simultaneously trying to hide his circumstances from curious eyes.

  He didn’t do a great job.

  Thankfully, no one mentioned his obvious plight. There was, however, tons of side-eye.

  He’d gone home and spent another hour begging Rafe via texts to let him come. Which he did, but only after Hop had sent a dozen pics, each dirtier than the last. When he’d finally been allowed his orgasm, he’d made a mess on Rafe’s expensive pinstriped silk, slipped it into an envelope and written Rafe’s name and address on it.

  The next morning, he’d handed it to the bike messenger waiting for him in the lobby of his apartment building. Hop had spent the entire day in a bubbly haze.

  Over the years, he’d experimented sexually. He’d taken risks to reach highs that rarely came. No matter what he did or who he’d done it with, nothing came close to what he’d found with Rafe.

  Rafe was epically twisted in a way that spoke directly to Hop’s cravings.

  Every moment of it drove him mad, so delightfully, marvelously mad. Bit by bit, it enticed him to reach for more. By the end of the week, he was completely enthralled with the act of submission.

  Rafe made it easy.

  That seemingly simple act of acceptance lifted invisible weight off Hop’s shoulders. He was bouncier than usual and the world itself was brighter. Not even another snowstorm could dampen his mood.

  Saturday was Valentine’s Day, and faced with three love-drunk giddy friends who gushed and bragged about their significant others, Hop barely felt a twinge of envy. Chocolate hearts and candlelit dinners were great for some, but give Hop a come-soaked tie, dreamy spankings, or a secret rendezvous any day.

  He had exactly what he wanted and he was successfully holding his doubts back.

  Mostly.

  Shaking the snow from his shoulders as he entered his apartment after rehearsal, Hop found another package with the same black wrapping paper on the coffee table in the living room. A bright red envelope was taped to the top with his name written in Rafe’s scrawl. As soon as he saw it, his asshole clenched in expectation.

  He’d been conditioned by an expert and didn’t even care because it felt so fucking good.

  Luckily his mother was out with a friend so he didn’t have to wait to read the note. It was handwritten with red ink on expensive card stock.

  Be mine.

  Not a question because it was Rafe.

  Hop’s heart did a triple pirouette followed by a series of grand jetés. This was Rafe’s version of a Valentine’s gift. He flipped the card over to find the direction he knew would be there.

  Wear these when you come to me tonight.

  Tonight.

  His chest swelled and he felt so full of light he could sail away. He tore away the paper and lifted the top.

  Shoes.

  But not just any shoes, these were gorgeous Christian Louboutins—ultra-high silver mesh pumps. They looked like metallic violet and changed color with the light like one of those hologram photos. They made Hop’s mouth water they were so fucking sexy.

  And expensive.

  He had one pair of Louboutins that he’d gotten third-hand and still he’d spent an entire paycheck to acquire them. Those luscious red bottoms were one thing, finding them in his size was a miracle. The weight of Rafe’s generosity sank into him like water into a sponge.

  As if he held delicate glass, Hop lifted the first heel from the box and slipped it onto his foot. It fit like a fucking glove. Hop gave into the excitement, sliding into the second heel. He stood and went into his bedroom to look at his feet in the full-length mirror. Damn, he looked hot.

  He could picture Rafe’s eyes going all dark and hooded at first glance, and it sent a rush of blood to his cock. These shoes weren’t a mere fashion statement, they were a symbol.

  A neon sign reminding him exactly who he belonged to.

  * * *

  “I have serious shoe envy, bitch.” Ansel looked like he wanted to lick Hop’s heels.

  “Did your new sugar daddy buy you those?” Z asked.

  “Z,” Tam chastised.

  “What? Clearly the ho is getting laid on the regular and he’s keeping it to himself.”

  Hop could feel the heat rise in his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were the gatekeeper of my asshole.”

  “Ooh, defensive. See? Proved my point.” Z lifted his brows at Tam and Ansel, but the other two rolled their eyes.

  “Why so curious, Z?” Jae asked. He rarely joined in their banter and Hop wanted to kiss him for doing so now.

  “Monogamy boring you so much you need to live vicariously?” Hop asked.

  “I’m not even going to dignify that with a reply.” Z flipped his hair and turned away.

  The rest of them laughed.

  “Holy shit. Did we just witness the student schooling the master?” Ansel asked.

  Z’s expression spoke of pride. “Well done, minion.”

  A huge smile on his face, Hop brought his hands together and bowed. “Thank
you, Sensei.”

  Valentine’s at Switch was a trippy lovefest complete with half-naked cupids wandering around with bows and rubber arrows dipped in glitter. They offered free drinks if you got shot by cupid and kissed whoever you were standing beside. Wanton behavior was encouraged, and it had been their job to keep the atmosphere sexy. Their two performances had ended with wall-shaking cheers, but now they were changed and ready to finish the night privately.

  He had no doubt his three coupled friends had major bedroom plans with their significant others. Hop had plans too. But he wasn’t sure if they’d make it to the bedroom.

  Snatching his shoe from Ansel’s covetous grip, he continued dressing.

  “I’m out, see you all tomorrow at Ansel’s.” Tam waved from the door.

  “You need a ride? Fitch is picking me up.”

  “Nah, Driver’s meeting me at the station.”

  “K, be safe.” Ansel turned to the rest of them. “How about you guys? Anyone need a ride?”

  “No, thanks,” Jae said, pulling on his leather backpack and lifting the hood of his coat. It was so big it dwarfed his head and left his face in shadows.

  “Connelly texted, he’s outside.” Z grabbed his tote and headed for the door. “Bye, bitches.”

  “Hop? Last one standing.”

  “I’m gonna stick around and get my dance on.” It wasn’t the first time he’d stayed afterhours at the club to enjoy the ambiance. There was no reason Ansel would find it odd, but his friend’s blond head tipped to the side and his eyes narrowed.

  “If there’s something going on in your life, we’d love to know about it. We’d celebrate the good with you and hold you through the bad. It’s what we do. We’re here if you want to talk.”

  “I’m good.” Better than good.

  “You seem, kind of, I don’t know, tranquil.”

  “Must be the yoga I’m doing each morning.” Or, maybe, the sex each night?

  “Yeah, sure. Yoga,” Ansel said, with a disbelieving tone. “Whatever it is, it looks good on you. I hope it lasts.” And with that, he nodded his goodbye.