by R. Cooper
“Chico, I’m sorry,” Rafael said as he moved forward, his eyes on Chico’s face and probably misreading the emotions he saw. “Was that too much? I thought you were with me. You moved like you were with me. But—”
“You need to kiss me again,” Chico told him, clenching and unclenching his hands in agitated distress. He tilted his head up. “Please.”
“Fuck,” Rafael exclaimed unexpectedly.
Chico took a halting step, and then Rafael’s hands were at his back to haul him up and his mouth was on Chico’s again.
Somewhere, distantly, Chico remembered he should be quiet, that they weren’t really alone. He even vaguely considered what Mrs. Winters was going to think. But this—he needed this. Rafael’s hands weren’t gentle at all anymore. He pulled Chico closer and kept him there and kissed him breathlessly, and Chico parted his lips and squirmed for more.
He smoothed his palms down Rafael’s shoulders and arms and dug his fingers into his biceps when Rafael bit at his jaw. Rafael left kisses at his throat that would bruise, and Chico got hard for it. Rafael wanted him enough for that, and he saw Chico wasn’t fragile. He could take it. “Harder.” He whispered it because he wanted… he wasn’t sure what he wanted. More of that, so he could feel it. Closing his eyes made it worse, made him push blindly into Rafael’s hands, spread his legs when they cupped his ass.
He thought of Rafael fucking him and almost couldn’t breathe. It would be like the two of them in the mirror. He’d feel small and weak and good, and Rafael would breathe on his skin and keep him close with all that strength and split him open.
“Raf, please.” Chico panted, openmouthed, as he lifted Rafael’s shirt from him and put his lips to skin until Rafael was swearing again, the softest, filthiest sound.
Rafael shifted, and Chico was in the air. For a moment he was suspended and dizzy, but when he opened his eyes again, Rafael was on the sofa and Chico was on top of him.
He approved with his mouth and then his fingers. He slipped them into Rafael’s pants, needing to feel his dick with more urgency than he had for his own. Rafael’s head fell back weakly, but he pushed his hands past Chico’s waistband and brought Chico down against him.
“I can’t take it.” Chico wasn’t going to last and made a rude sound, like a laugh, into Rafael’s throat. “Are you picturing it? Because I can’t bear… your hands…. I want them. You saw? In the mirror?”
“Yeah.” Rafael understood without Chico needing to finish his sentences. “Kiss me,” he whispered, sliding his hands between them.
Chico arched up to press their mouths together and moaned into Rafael’s lips before he could manage it. The kiss was deep, breathless, and hungry. He tried again, wanting to be good, but Rafael squeezed his cock and stroked him, and all he could do was move with it until he was gasping and coming with hot, surprised shame.
Rafael licked at Chico’s mouth as Chico shuddered, and made a rough sound at the drag of Chico’s lips over his. He jacked Chico until Chico gasped again, aching, then released him to ease one hand under Chico’s T-shirt. He rested his other palm between Chico’s shoulder blades and kissed him, the same slow kiss as their very first one on Chico’s balcony. Chico kissed him back blindly, practically humming despite all the things they could have done.
He loved Rafael’s mouth, his hands, the way he had Chico moaning and didn’t seem to care. Chico was so noisy, and Rafael only kept on giving him lazy, wet kisses.
“You didn’t come,” Chico murmured after a while, horribly embarrassed, and raised his head when that earned him a biting, happy kiss at his bottom lip. Rafael stared at him as if he would prefer Chico back within kissing distance. Chico’s come was all over his stomach, and he was slowly inching his hips up like he couldn’t help himself.
Chico stared at him with eyes that he knew were growing wider and wider. He felt like a teenager under that stare, like he could get hard again in no time. He wanted to. He was already sprawled between Rafael’s thighs.
He twitched his hips. “Do you want me?”
Rafael made a very pleased sound. He took hold of one of Chico’s hands, and brought it to his mouth. He licked across the palm until Chico was wriggling, ticklish and aroused, and he smiled wickedly before he tugged it down.
Chico immediately curled his fingers around the cock on offer. He liked everything about it, enough to make his mouth water.
Rafael put his head back again and spread his legs so Chico could settle over him. He sighed when Chico pressed his mouth to his throat and shoulder, and he made a strangled sound when Chico tightened his grip. Chico knew Rafael was close when his hands fell down to Chico’s hips and he pushed them down, as though he was imagining sliding into Chico’s body instead of just his hand.
Chico was suddenly so hungry for him. Someone who wanted him this much. Someone he wanted this much. He didn’t do dirty talk, but he didn’t have to. He moved down as Rafael thrust up, and let a breathless sound escape at the thought of Rafael fucking him, and Rafael said his name like Chico was killing him.
Chico leaned up and pressed their mouths together, breathing hard because of what they both wanted and because of the desperate hold Rafael had on his hips as he pushed up. Chico worked his cock and made him come with a delight so overwhelming that he laughed as spunk shot over his hand and onto his lower stomach.
Rafael snorted in either tired amusement or offense, but Chico put his face against Rafael’s neck and licked at salty sweat. Rafael tasted clean and male, and he shivered at the touch of Chico’s tongue. Chico had made a good decision, even if not much thinking had been involved.
Hands dragged over his skin, up under his T-shirt and then down to his waist, repetitive, soothing motions that could go on forever as far as Chico was concerned.
Of course they couldn’t. A dance class was going on right outside the door.
“Oh my God!” Chico jerked upright, startling Rafael into opening his eyes. “What did we do? What just happened?”
Rafael stretched underneath him in a rolling motion. He was strong enough to take Chico up with him. His smile was slow and very pleased. “You let me touch you.”
Chico stopped. He put his hands on Rafael’s chest and flexed his fingers, noting how his rings looked against Rafael’s skin. Rafael continued to pet him lazily.
“Yes, I did,” Chico agreed at last. He didn’t sound like he regretted it.
Rafael worried anyway, even though his smile was bright. “Are you okay with that?”
It occurred to Chico that he’d had a hot dancer body under him and hadn’t touched it nearly as much as he could have. He’d barely even glimpsed it. He gave Rafael’s chest a long look, then raised his eyes. “Yeah. I’m glad it was you.”
Rafael exhaled shakily. “Thank you for that.”
“I’m sorry,” Chico whispered, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for.
“Are you really?” Rafael lifted a hand and bit off an eager noise when Chico turned his head to nip at his thumb and lick at the salty taste.
After a fleeting moment, Chico shook his head, and Rafael sat up to kiss him again, holding Chico tight before Chico could even think to worry about falling over. Chico slid his hands to the sides of Rafael’s head and kissed him back. It wasn’t just the months without this, it was Rafael, his mouth hot and urgent.
“I should never have kissed you in the dark.” Rafael pulled away at last and hummed in satisfaction. His voice was huskier than usual. “I missed seeing you go all soft-eyed and open.”
There was something seriously disarming about somebody who said things like that. Chico did his best to stare him down, but Rafael was unflinching. Eventually, Chico glanced sideways to hide his face and mumbled, “I like you too.”
Rafael let out a burst of laughter and collapsed back against the sofa. He plucked at his shirt and made a face. “I hate to ruin the mood, but I’ve got to somehow get out of here and clean up before rehearsal.”
“Oh my God!” C
hico exclaimed again. “We’re literally right next to a dance class!” He scrambled off Rafael, which only made Rafael laugh more.
“My family has owned this school my whole life. I know how those teenage dancers operate. Trust me when I say this room has seen its share of action.” Rafael stretched, then got to his feet and stretched again. He pulled at his shirt as it fell down and immediately stuck to his stomach. “I have clothes in the office. The problem is getting to a bathroom first.”
Chico pulled his pants up before bending down to rifle through the trash until he came up with scraps of leftover fabric. He handed over everything but the tulle for Rafael to use as a tissue. “The problem is your mother glaring at me,” he muttered. He got tugged forward for another kiss for his trouble, and wished he wouldn’t immediately go so pliable when Rafael did that. All things considered, they barely knew each other. They hadn’t even dated. But it felt so good, and Rafael kept putting his hand at Chico’s side as if he knew Chico needed it.
When Chico managed to pull back and stare up at him reproachfully—these distractions were all Rafael’s fault somehow—Rafael sighed.
“Right. Talking.” He tossed the bits of fabric in the trash and straightened his shirt. “We can do that later, if you want.”
Chico didn’t actually want, but he was thirty-four, and talking with a man he liked about what he wanted seemed like something he ought to be able to do by now. It sounded wise to bring up boundaries and issues before they did anything else, which was probably why the moment Rafael suggested they talk, Chico wanted to bury his face in Rafael’s shoulder and beg for his hands on him.
Instead he nodded and spent a few minutes putting himself back together. His neck stung, like he had a bruise forming there, but considering Rafael had to go teach a class with the imprint of Chico’s teeth at the edge of his jaw, he could deal with it.
“Everyone will know what you did in here,” he remarked, when he felt as presentable as he could get. He could wash in the bathroom and air out the closet, but everyone who’d seen them come in here and was old enough to understand would know what they’d been doing.
Rafael paused in the middle of burying the stained fabric under crumpled up paper and swaths of tulle. He stood up. “You’re worried about me?” He grabbed convulsively at Chico’s T-shirt, then visibly made himself release it. “God, you drive me so crazy. In a good way most of the time. But you always do these things to me when I can’t respond how I want to.”
Chico supposed he looked confused by that because Rafael shook his head. “I have to go clean up and get ready. You hide in here if you want. But if you feel like it later, come out and watch some of the rehearsal, or just come and see me.” He cleared his throat. “Please come and see me.”
“Yeah?” Chico liked how Rafael paused and closed his eyes and swallowed like Chico was pure torture. He liked it enough to be even braver. “Okay.”
“Okay.” Rafael opened his eyes to regard Chico seriously. “Now I do have to go. After the performance, we should…. Later. We’ll talk about that later,” he finished sternly, then went to the door. He cracked it open, only to freeze at a blast of furious Russian.
Chico hadn’t even known Mrs. Winters could speak Russian. Usually the only other language he heard around here was bits and pieces of French dance terms.
Rafael put a hand behind his back to wave at Chico, possibly trying to tell Chico it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, then sauntered out the door. He closed it behind him to give Chico his space.
Chico needed it. He fell into the nearest chair without even looking first to make sure his ass wouldn’t hit the ground.
AFTER ABOUT half an hour, when Chico really couldn’t put off the need to clean himself any longer, he ventured out. Mrs. Winters wasn’t there, thank goodness, but several teens were, and they seemed startled to see him. At least some of them waved. Faith, who played the dancer, pirouetted for him.
That one knew how to get the costuming department on her side, and her expression held absolutely no fear, despite all the dancing required of her in her role. The girl was going to go places.
Chico grinned at her and completed his stealthy walk of shame before hurrying back to the safety of his closet.
He cleaned up the costume closet, then looked over the few things he had left to do, aware that most of them would have been done already, or never been attempted in the first place, if he hadn’t gotten obsessive about everything. At least the place would be in better shape when he was done.
That thought made him frown because the costumes would only stay neat and organized until the next recital, and then those volunteers were going to wreck everything.
He should hide all the glue guns.
When was the next recital anyway? This was the big one, but all the dance classes had shows, especially the ones for the younger kids. He imagined all the tiny sparkly vests and bowties as a bunch of children tapped their way through Fosse routines, and then he thought of Camille. The sight was probably adorable.
If it was only in another few months, maybe he’d get to see it. They might even want his help again. He could always ask. He and Rafael had to talk anyway.
Sure, he wasn’t especially looking forward to it. But he could mention it. Somewhere in between telling Rafael that he’d been tested twice since John’s cheating and come up negative, and hopefully not letting too much insecurity show about his body compared to Rafael’s body. Then, if he could, he’d ask if Rafael would really be okay with taking some things slowly. Chico would have said he was okay with slow, right up until he’d jumped Rafael that afternoon.
Remembering that made him poke his head outside again. Rafael had the kids in full rehearsal mode now, the same pieces over and over again until either he was comfortable with it or the kids were.
He could have been cranky. Once or twice, Chico heard exasperation enter his voice, or maybe it was tired frustration that had nothing to do with the dancers. But a moment later, he’d be laughing or warmly encouraging someone to go again, and everything was okay.
The rehearsal was longer than usual because the performance was looming now. The sky looked dark, and Chico’s stomach was growling when he finally properly left the sewing room. Rafael stopped what he was doing as he watched Chico walk over to his place on the bench and sit down, and then Travis said something, and Rafael’s attention was once again on the dancing.
Travis was capable of tremendous focus when he felt like it. His role had a lot of dancing too, but here he was, staying late to help Amy work through her dance. Her solo, Chico thought they called it, but it was possible he was confusing that with something from musical theater.
He whiled away another half an hour embroidering flowers and swirls across the chest of her costume, another faux-corset, in keeping with the vaguely turn-of-the-century look. She couldn’t have medals, obviously, but she could be heavily decorated all the same. And if he did it right, it might make her seem bustier than she was, which felt like the kind of thing a king like that would desire in his trophies.
“The king isn’t interested in her heart or her brain,” Rafael was reminding Amy, as if he had similar ideas. “He’s a dick.”
A laugh escaped Amy that seemed to take her by surprise. Poor tense thing needed to laugh more.
Rafael waited until she’d calmed, then went on. “The inventor, who is very smart, knows that. So he built her to be perfect for this king—no heart, no brain, no soul—unless of course you think he didn’t.”
Chico stopped, confused. So did Amy and Travis.
Rafael sighed. “This story is about magic.” He said it as though he was reminding them. “If you choose to believe the inventor would make a soulless doll to woo the king and save the dancer, then dance that way. But don’t forget, it’s just as likely the inventor is more clever than that. He could be making a statement about the king trying to turn the dancer into something lifeless. Whichever version you decide on is the one you ought to dance.”
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“It’s more tragic if you think she does have a soul.” Travis, bless him, was smarter than he acted. “It’s like Blade Runner or something.”
“Very good, Travis.” Rafael didn’t sound surprised, so Chico tried not to goggle.
“But the inventor isn’t cruel,” Amy argued in a quiet, timid voice. “He wouldn’t build something just so it could suffer.”
“This is exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Rafael was so pleased, Chico could practically see the glow around him. “You need to think about this as more than a dancing doll. Is she a thing? A shallow reflection of the king’s glory? Is she monstrous? Or could the inventor not help himself, and refused to make another empty doll? The story doesn’t tell us. But whatever she is, she isn’t nothing. She has choice if you want her to. She’s what saves the dancer in the end.”
“Not the inventor, though. Nobody saves him.” Travis was full of insight today. It had to be the presence of his crush.
“In this version anyway,” Rafael agreed. “And one more thing for you to think about before I see you tomorrow. In any other story, the inventor would have fallen in love with the doll. In another story, the usual story, loving the creation would be shown as romantic. In this story, it’s not. It’s a perversion of the love the king could have felt for the real dancer, and it’s clearly meant to be contrasted with the selfless love of the inventor, who tries to free the dancer without expecting to win her for himself.”
Chico sighed to himself, then focused quickly on his work when the three of them turned to him. As if that signaled the end of their work for the night, Amy and Travis went to gather their stuff and change their shoes. They slipped out the door leading to the rest of the school with nods and winks at Chico, and they closed the door behind them.