Afterwards, Luc and his parents waited in the lobby of the theatre until Adam joined them, his face flushed from cleaning stage makeup off it.
"You were wonderful," their mum exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his shoulder so she could embrace him.
"You were fantastic," Ken agreed, before taking his turn to hug his son. "You really do belong on the stage."
"I take after you two," Adam said, grinning at them both. He moved to Luc, hugging and kissing him.
"Was it everything you hoped it would be?" Luc asked.
"And more," Adam replied. "Thank you for pushing me to follow my dreams."
"I just told you what you needed to hear. That's all."
As he held Adam and stared into his dark eyes, it felt like the rest of the world faded to black. It was as though they were completely alone, even though their parents were standing close by.
"I love you."
He covered Adam's mouth with his own, kissing him with unbridled passion that should have left him red with embarrassment. He felt Adam's left hand on his cheek and the other on his back. He wrapped his own arms around Adam, drawing him close so their chests were pressed together. He knew, beyond any doubt, that this was exactly how he wanted to spend eternity: in Adam's arms.
The End
A Dance For You
Love on Pointe Book 2
Blurb
When Mason’s sexy older neighbour turns out to be his choreographer, should he walk away, or dance into his arms?
New job, new city: Mason hopes both will lead to him escaping burnout as a ballet dancer. Not living out of a suitcase anymore is a bonus. A steamy encounter with his neighbour, David—a man twice his age—gets things off to a good start, until they both turn up for work at the dance studio the next morning.
Sleeping with his choreographer is bound to make things complicated, but Mason can’t stay away, especially when David wants to introduce him to kinks he’s never experienced.
Is Mason willing to be completely vulnerable with David, so he can feel more alive than he’s ever done before?
A Dance For You is a MM forbidden romance, with explicit language, an age-gap relationship, steamy scenes, mild D/s play and a whole lot of heart. It’s the second in a duet of standalone romances, with a happy ever after.
For my parents:
The most open minded, loving people I know. Thank you for shaping me into the person I am today.
Chapter One
Mason
Mason watched in dismay as the delivery van drove away, leaving him standing on the pavement with a collection of boxed flat-pack furniture stacked around him. He glanced from the oversized boxes to the steep, narrow, outside steps that led to his tiny basement flat, a sinking feeling filling his gut. It was his own fault for buying the cheapest stuff he could find. If he'd gone to a proper furniture store, it would have come assembled, and they'd have put it all in the right rooms for him; not that he could afford that kind of thing.
With a determined sigh, he rolled his shirtsleeves up and grabbed the most manageable-looking box. It was heavy, but that wasn't the problem. He was used to lifting dancers, but they weren't bulky, dead weights in his arms. There was nothing to get any purchase on, and once he'd lifted the box, he could barely see around it. He definitely couldn't see where he was putting his feet. He'd be lucky if he didn't trip down the steps and break his neck. Or the furniture. Breaking the furniture he'd spent all his remaining savings on would be a really bad idea.
He took it one step at a time, using his feet to feel his way. The sides of the box collided with the black metal railings that prevented anyone from tumbling off the pavement, forcing him to lift the box higher still, robbing him of the limited view he'd had.
"Do you need a hand?"
Still struggling with the box, Mason did his best to look round for the source of the deep, mellow voice.
"Back up. Let me help."
Mason did as he was told, his load becoming lighter as someone took the front end of the box and helped him lower it to chest height. He found himself staring at a good-looking older man with dark eyes that twinkled at him from behind a pair of black-framed glasses.
"I'm David," the man said, a smile making the laugh lines around his mouth and eyes deepen. "I live next door. Are you just moving in?"
"Yesterday. And thanks."
David's smile deepened. "I'll go down first. You ready?"
Mason nodded, and together they manhandled box after box down the steps into Mason's flat. It wasn't that he'd bought a lot of furniture, but each individual piece seemed to have been split up into at least three boxes. Then again, any less and they would have been impossible to move, even with help.
"Thanks," Mason said once they were done. He wiped his hand on his faded, ripped jeans before holding it out.
David took Mason's hand in a firm handshake. His hand was strong, smooth, and warm, matching the smile on his face. His lips were framed by a well-groomed beard and moustache, which had clearly been a dark brown that was almost black but were now sprinkled with strands of grey and white, just like his hair. He was well-built, too, a man who obviously knew how to take care of himself and probably worked out. The lines on his face hinted at thousands of memories, not all good. Mason took all those details in during the handful of seconds the handshake lasted for and longed to know more.
"No problem at all," David said as he examined the pile of boxes. "Do you need help putting all this stuff together?"
Mason frowned. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the offer of help, but he was a little suspicious of it. "Don't you have something better to do on a Sunday afternoon than build furniture with a complete stranger?"
"Well, I was going to hoover the house, so you'd be saving me from that tedious task."
Mason laughed. "And putting flat-pack furniture together isn't tedious?"
"It's a lot less dull when you've got help."
Mason couldn't argue with that. Still, he wasn't used to such random acts of kindness from strangers, a side effect of living out of hotel rooms for over three years.
"If you're sure, the help would be great."
"I'll tell you if I'm bored," David assured him. "Where do you want to start?"
The sofa made the most sense. Then at least they'd have somewhere to sit when they wanted a break. He found the right boxes and used his pocket knife to break each of them open so he could retrieve the instructions and lay out the pieces. Not that the instructions looked massively helpful. There were no words, only diagrams. Whatever expression had settled on his face, it made David laugh, and the sound resonated deep within Mason's body.
"You look like you've never done this before."
"That's because I haven't," Mason confessed. "This is the first time I've had a place of my own." And all the furniture in his parents' house had been there for years. It was comfortably threadbare and felt like home.
"Well, congratulations," David said, kneeling on the floor beside him to take a closer look at the instructions. "I think we start with the base." He reached over to two long pieces of wood and then selected the correct bolts, holding them against the diagrams in the instructions to double-check them.
"How long have you lived around here?" Mason asked as they worked together to form the base frame and then attach the slats that would stop the cushions from falling through.
"A few years," David replied. "It's a nice area."
Mason wondered if 'nice' was meant as a synonym for 'expensive'. His tiny flat was costing him more in monthly rent than he'd have liked, especially as he would no longer receive a per diem for travelling, but it was close to the rehearsal studios that he'd be spending the majority of his time in. He was pretty sure the house David lived in hadn't been converted into flats, which probably meant it had been crazy expensive—beyond any amount Mason could ever hope to earn as a dancer.
"Of course, the best way to judge an area is by the neighbours," David said, laughter in his vo
ice.
Mason grinned at him. "Mine seems pretty nice so far."
"I'm glad we're making a good first impression on you."
Mason dipped his gaze to concentrate on using an Allen key to tighten a bolt, but also to avoid staring at David. The man had the kind of face he could explore for hours. A hundred questions rested on the tip of his tongue, and he wondered about all the stories David had to tell. Not that he could ask any of those questions without sounding like some creepy weirdo. He couldn't ask prying questions of a man he'd only just met, even if that man was helping him build furniture. Mason knew he had a penchant for talking far too much, but he also had a half-decent common sense filter.
"Do you have family close by?" David asked.
"They're up north," Mason told him, then wondered if that had been a good idea.
Just because David lived in an expensive house and seemed kind and friendly, didn't mean he was. So much for Mason's common sense filter.
"I'm sure they'll call in a bit to see how I'm settling in," he added hastily.
David laughed again, causing Mason to scowl. "It's good to be cautious," David said after taking control of his laughter. "I am a stranger."
A really handsome stranger. The blue shirt David was wearing was tight-fitting, leaving very little to the imagination. Mason couldn't help but notice the way the muscles in David's broad shoulders bunched as he leaned over to grab the next piece of the furniture puzzle.
What was he doing? Staring at a strange, much older man didn't seem like the most sensible thing he'd ever done. Clearly, it had been far too long since he'd got laid. He narrowed his eyes as he tried to remember exactly when that had been; too long ago to remember. Most of the time, his non-existent love life didn't bother him. He was generally too busy with dancing to care. Either that, or he was out with the other dancers in his company.
But now he was about to start at a new company where he didn't know anyone, and for the first time in a long time, he felt a true pang of loneliness. Mason had never coped well with being alone, but he put that down to growing up as the youngest in a huge family.
"You look lost in thought," David said.
Mason blinked and realised he'd been staring vacantly while David had put the legs on one end of the sofa. "Sorry."
"Don't apologise. I was just curious what you were thinking about."
Mason stared at him, which was exactly what he'd been trying to tell himself not to do. "Really?" Which was probably the dumbest thing he could have said.
"Really."
"Uh…" Mason scrabbled for something to say. It wasn't like him to lie, but he really wasn't about to tell David that he was mentally telling himself off for finding him attractive. "I was just thinking about my family and how much quieter it's going to be, living on my own." Not that he'd lived at home in a while, but he hoped the flat would be quieter than sleeping in hotel rooms, too.
"You have a noisy family?"
"I have a big family."
David raised his eyebrows.
"I'm the youngest of seven," Mason said, holding the other end of the sofa up so that David could move round and screw the legs on.
It put them very close together. Probably too close together. David was wearing deodorant that had hints of citrus and lemongrass.
"Seven? It must have been hectic."
Mason chuckled. "You could say that."
It had been awesome, though, growing up in such a big family. There had always been someone around to talk to.
"I'm an only child," David told him. "So I'm not sure I can even begin to imagine what it would be like growing up with six brothers and sisters."
"Only sisters." Mason's mouth curled into a half-smile. "We always joked that our parents wanted a boy but kept having girls." He shrugged. "I've no idea if that's true or not, but they certainly stopped once I came along."
He had no idea why he was being so free with personal details, but David was really easy to talk to, and Mason had never been good at being anything other than open, something else he put down to always having people around who were constantly sticking their noses into his business. Then again, he'd been pretty good at sticking his nose into his sisters' business, too.
"Wow," David said, sounding a little awed. "Six sisters? That must have been interesting."
"I had to be quick in the bathroom," Mason joked as he helped David to set the sofa upright.
"It just needs the cushions now," David said. "Then you can test it."
Mason found himself wishing David had said 'we'. The sofa cushions and the mattress for the bed had been wrapped in plastic rather than boxed, which had made them a little easier to carry into the flat. With David's help, Mason ripped the plastic off and stuffed it all into a bin bag. Once they'd arranged the cushions on the frame, Mason flopped onto it, bouncing a couple of times to test it. It wasn't the most comfortable piece of furniture, but it would do. He doubted he'd be spending much time on it, anyway, especially as he hadn't bought a TV.
David had stayed where he was, kneeling on the floor, which seemed kind of awkward to Mason. The guy had helped him put the sofa together; he deserved to sit on it. He patted the cushion beside him and motioned for David to sit down.
"I should probably go," David said, standing instead of sitting. He nodded over to the rest of the flat-pack boxes and the wrapped-up mattress. "Unless you need some more help?"
Mason wasn't sure he needed help, but he'd definitely enjoyed having David help. "Let me cook for you. To say thank you."
David's lips parted, and he used his forefinger to push his glasses a little further up his nose. "You're asking me to stay for food, but you haven't even told me your name."
Mason's eyes widened. "I haven't?" He thought back over the afternoon, cringing as he did so. "I haven't." He stood so he was face-to-face with David and held his hand out again. "Mason."
David smiled and shook his hand, which felt… good. For a second, time seemed to stand still as their hands remained clasped and their gazes locked.
Mason had no clue if he was imagining it or not.
He was probably imagining it. A guy like David—obviously successful, if his house was anything to go by, stylish and much older—wasn't going to feel anything for him. He was well aware that he came across as a scruffy chatterbox.
"It's good to meet you," David said, his words breaking the spell.
Their hands slid apart.
"Stay for food. It's the least I can do," Mason said. "You've spent half your afternoon helping me lug boxes around and put together a sofa with the worst instructions ever."
David hesitated, the muscles beneath his eyes twitching slightly before he finally replied. "Okay, that would be lovely." His gaze travelled back to the other boxes. "What else needs putting together?"
"There should be a table and a couple of folding chairs, plus the bed."
David nodded slowly. "I'll tell you what. Why don't I put the table together while you cook? Then we'll have somewhere to sit while we eat."
"The sofa's not good enough for you?" Mason asked, arching an eyebrow and slapping a grin onto his lips as he spoke.
"The sofa is fine. If you don't want me to put the table together, I'll happily sit here and put my feet up while you cook."
Mason gestured to the boxes. "Hey, who am I to stop you from being my slave?" Then he stood and headed to the opposite side of the room, where there was a small kitchenette. Thankfully, the cooker and fridge-freezer had been included in the rent. "Do you like pesto?"
David nodded.
"Chicken?"
"I like pretty much anything."
"That should make my job easy, then."
As he got out everything he needed to cook, Mason glanced across at David, who had found the boxes containing the table pieces and had started to break them open. His shirt stretched across his back as he worked, revealing taut muscles.
Get a grip, Mase. Perving on your sexy neighbour is really bad.
Telling himself to stop looking and actually doing it were two very different things. And David really was sexy; the fact that he was also charming, kind, and helpful didn't help. Cooking: that was what Mason had to focus on, not some silly lustful crush.
Chapter Two
David
From the moment David first looked into Mason's blue eyes, he felt like he'd fallen down a rabbit hole and was wandering through some fantastical land where none of his decisions made sense and repercussions were far from his mind. What the hell was he doing, hanging out in the flat of a twenty-something-year-old?
Enjoying himself. That's what.
He'd been all set for a lazy Sunday afternoon alone. Then he'd offered to help Mason, and the course of his day had changed radically. They'd chatted, joked around, and laughed. He'd felt lighter than he had done in a long time. When Mason invited him to stay for food, his head had told him to leave, but that was about the only part of him which felt that not hanging around was a good idea. And when he'd looked straight into Mason's eyes again… his head had lost spectacularly.
Mason really did have the most amazing eyes he'd ever seen. They were as blue as the sky at noon on a beautiful spring day. They were eyes he could spend hours looking into without realising the passing of time, and it had been really, really hard to force himself to look away.
But it wasn't just Mason's eyes that had him acting like a teenager with raging hormones; it was his openness and youthful vigour. And yes, it helped that the young man was attractive. His eyes might be the focal point of his face, but all his features were handsome. From his narrow nose to his lips, which were permanently upturned at the corners, to his soft jaw and dirty-blond hair, which curled a fraction at the tips. He was tall and slim, which was evident despite the baggy clothes he was wearing.
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