Mason clenched his free hand into a fist. He wanted to wipe the sneer off Kirk's face, but he knew it would be a stupid thing to do.
"Let me go," he said instead.
Kirk kept hold of him. "You need to learn your place. You're not good enough," he repeated. "And I won't be satisfied until you're gone." His eyes narrowed. "I've been trying to figure out why you got Puck instead of me."
Mason pressed his lips together.
"You were hired as a junior, so it's clear Veronica didn't think you were good enough to be anything else. So, how did you manage to get such a big part? Did you screw her? Or maybe David? Is he a fag like you?"
"Don't be stupid," Mason retorted.
Fair enough. He was sleeping with David—not that Kirk ever needed to know that—but that hadn't been why he'd got the part. At least that was what he'd told himself. That was what David had told him. But now, facing Kirk and feeling the pain in his ankle, he started to doubt it.
Kirk's gaze flicked over Mason's face, searching. "I'll figure it out," he hissed. "And when I do, I'll make sure everyone knows how much of a slut you are."
He let Mason go and strode away.
Mason slumped against the door jamb. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his nerves were a jangling mess. Kirk wasn't going to let the matter drop. He was going to carry on making Mason's life difficult. But better one person than an entire company.
Slowly, he limped down the corridor towards the reception area, where he hoped the taxi would be waiting. Having to take a couple of days off suddenly sounded like a great idea.
Chapter Twenty
David
David joined Mason on the sofa, a couple of wine glasses in his hands. "I got wine without thinking. Should you even be drinking?"
"Probably not. It won't play well with the painkillers I've been prescribed."
Internally cursing himself, David put the glass he'd intended for Mason on the coffee table. He'd invited Mason over for dinner so his sub wouldn't have to spend too much time standing to cook for himself. Besides, his lounge was more comfortable, and he had both a good stereo system and a TV.
"How's your ankle?"
Mason settled his leg across David's lap. "Sore. A bit stiff." He rested his head against the back of the sofa. "The doctor said it would be fine in a day or two, but he doesn't want me to dance for the rest of the week."
David stroked Mason's bare ankle, applying light pressure to massage it.
"Can I talk to you about something?" Mason asked.
David turned his head to meet Mason's bright stare. The young man was frowning slightly.
"You," Mason reiterated. "My partner. Not my choreographer."
It was David's turn to frown.
Mason pushed himself upright, wincing a little. "I mean it. You promised you could keep work and our relationship separate."
"I can," David said, concern gnawing away at him.
He wasn't sure why Mason was pushing the issue so much. He'd said it more than once, and he didn't know why the young man was struggling to believe it. He thought Mason trusted him. If he'd doubted that, he'd never have done the things he had during their session. But Mason's current words and expression didn't radiate trust.
He went back to massaging Mason's ankle. "We're two separate people," he said, forcing himself to smile.
"With the same name?" Mason asked, the humour in his voice not quite genuine.
"Yes. You trust me, don't you?"
Mason sighed. "You know I do."
"Then why are you even asking?"
Mason shrugged. "Because I'm an idiot?" He touched his hand to David's arm. "I'm sorry."
It was impossible to be even halfway to angry with Mason when there was so much sincerity in his gaze. David was just glad that, whatever was going on, Mason felt like he could talk to him.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm getting grief from one of the dancers."
David felt himself stiffen with anger. "Which one?"
"Does it matter?" Mason grinned, but the action was clearly forced. "You don't know any of them, anyway."
David almost laughed at Mason's words, but he played along. "No, that's true. What kind of grief?"
"Mostly verbal stuff. He's shoved me and tripped me a couple of times."
David clenched his teeth. "Why?"
"He thinks I stole his part." Mason grimaced. "He doesn't think I'm good enough. Today, he even accused me of sleeping with someone to get Puck."
David's eyebrows lifted. "Who?" He knew who Mason was talking about now, and it made his stomach clench with anger.
"First, he reckoned Veronica, but he knows I'm gay, so he suspects I slept with my choreographer, too." Mason winked at him, but the cheeky action was diluted by the sadness and doubt in his eyes.
"You are good enough," David said softly. "You were given the role because you deserve it. Because you are right for it."
"I know." Mason breathed out slowly. "But between his words and you… my choreographer talking about maybe making my duet with Alan simpler…" He let out a heavy sigh. "It's just getting me down, and you know me. Not much does."
Wasn't that the truth? Mason's positive attitude was one of the things David loved about him.
"How long has it been going on for?"
Mason winced. "Since casting day."
"Mason—"
"I know. I should have told you sooner. I just… I was ignoring it. But I guess today I'm tired, in pain, and a little off my head on painkillers, and I just can't shrug it off right now."
"You shouldn't have to. You should tell Veronica." David inhaled. "Or your choreographer."
"I can't."
David opened his mouth to speak, but Mason carried on before he got a chance to get a word in.
"You know as well as I do that if I get a reputation for being a snitch, the other dancers will make my life hell. And that reputation will follow me. Besides, he'll get fed up by the end of the season." He held his hand out.
David took it and cradled it in his own. "The end of the season is a long way off, Mason."
"I know. But I can handle it. It's just nice to know I can come home and talk to you if it's really bothering me." His smile was genuine this time, his eyes lighting up.
David sighed. Part of him wanted to haul Kirk up for bullying first thing in the morning, but he couldn't. He'd promised Mason that they would keep their work and private lives separate. Another part of him wanted to go into the studio and punch Kirk in his smug face. That definitely wasn't David the choreographer talking. It was David, the man who was hopelessly smitten with Mason and didn't want to see the young man get hurt.
"If he lays a hand on you—" he began to growl out, but he was cut short by Mason laughing.
"Are you worried he'll leave a mark on me before you get to?"
Instantly, David forgot his anger, because his cock had gone too bloody hard to think of anything but how much he desired Mason. And, fuck, that comment had really turned him on, although it confused him too.
He stroked Mason's hand. "Does that mean you're going to let me leave marks on you?" he asked.
"You wish."
"I really do." His voice had dropped, his cock stirring even more because Mason was teasing him. "I don't need to spank you. There are toys I can use instead."
"Toys?" Mason's expression became wary, and he pinched his lower lip between his teeth.
"My teeth, for a start." He'd bitten Mason too lightly to leave a mark the other day.
"They're not toys," Mason pointed out. He was trembling, but his pupils had grown large, and his lips were parted, suggesting to David that he was not only curious but potentially interested.
"Bamboo skewers," David said. He watched Mason's reaction closely, loving the way the young man's shoulders and back twisted as a shudder ran through him. "Clothes pegs."
Mason snorted out a laugh. "Only you could make clothes pegs sound sexy. Although I'm wondering what you'd do with the
m."
"Sexy, huh? As for what I'd do with them…" David paused, narrowing his eyes as he imagined where he'd clamp the clothes pegs. "Does that mean I can play once your ankle's all better? Then you can find out what I do with clothes pegs and skewers."
"Yeah," Mason whispered. "I think I'd like that."
A thrill of excitement ran through David. He was delighted that Mason was willing to try out new things. And if it turned out Mason didn't like them, it was no big deal. That was why they had a safe word, after all.
David sipped his wine, his thoughts tracking back to Kirk as his desire settled down.
"Thank you for telling me about—" He stopped himself quickly, "—the dancer who's bullying you." He moved his hand from Mason's and began to stroke his thigh. "Shall I put the TV on? We can relax until you're ready to go home."
"Do I have to go home?" Mason asked.
"You want to sleep over?" David couldn't hide the surprise in his voice.
They'd never spent a whole night with one another. Either he or Mason had always left before dawn to take the last few hours of sleep in their own bed. Whether it was because they were being 'discreet' or because staying the night would mean a shift in their relationship, David wasn't sure. But hearing Mason ask to stay made his insides feel all mushy and gooey in a wonderful way.
"Yeah," Mason said. "I would. Just sleep, though. If that's okay?"
"Of course it is." David tangled his fingers through Mason's. "Falling asleep together sounds perfect."
Mason smiled dreamily. "It does, doesn't it?"
Falling asleep together was perfect. What was less perfect was having to leave Mason the next morning so David could get to the dance studio. He had woken earlier than Mason, so he lay there staring at the beautiful young man in his bed. It was such a simple thing, spending the whole night together, but one that meant a lot to him. Mason being the one to suggest it meant even more.
His heart swelled, and he let out a heavy sigh. He had been in love more times than he could count. At least he thought he had been. It was often hard to define the line between lust and love, especially at the start of a relationship, when he was so wrapped up in the other person that it felt like he was permanently intoxicated. He felt that way with Mason. Whenever they were together, it was like little sparks of electricity were flying between them. A simple smile from the young man could elicit a range of emotions within him, from happiness to desire.
But it was more than that. He felt comfortable with Mason. They could sit and talk for hours and part ways without so much as a kiss, let alone falling into bed together. Despite the age gap between them, they never struggled to find common ground.
Mason stirred and stretched. He hissed in a breath as his leg twitched, and then his eyes flickered open. His eyelids were still heavy with sleep as he looked up at David.
"What?" he asked. "You're staring at me."
David stroked Mason's arm. "Just thinking how beautiful you are."
Mason laughed. "Are you trying to seduce me?"
"No." Although now that the thought had been put into his head… But no. He wasn't. It might not have been true when they'd first started sleeping together, but now there was so much more to their relationship than sex.
Mason smiled. "Your bed's comfy. Maybe I should crash here more often."
"I'd like that."
Mason shifted his position slightly, as though he was making himself more comfortable. "You could sleep at mine, too."
David leaned forward to kiss Mason's shoulder. "I'd like that, too. I think I'd like to wake up beside you every morning."
The words were out of his mouth before the realisation had really sunk in. The moment it did, it hit him hard in the chest, creating a growing warmth that spread through his body. Being with Mason felt right. It made him happy.
"Why don't you go back to sleep?" he suggested. "You're not coming into the studio today, are you?"
Mason shook his head. "I think Veronica would kill me if I did."
David chuckled. "We can’t have that."
"You'd miss me?" Mason asked, grinning.
"Terribly."
"I'd best be a good boy and stay here, then, hadn't I?" Mason clamped his teeth together, his eyes popping open wide. "Sorry. I didn't mean here. I meant home. My home." His cheeks blazed with colour as he rolled onto his back and flopped his arm over his face.
David tried, but failed, not to laugh. "Wait there."
Mason peeked at him from beneath his arm but didn't speak or move as David left the bed. He jogged down the stairs to the hallway, where he retrieved a spare set of house keys from the basket. He gripped them in his hand, grinning, as he made his way back to Mason.
He slipped back into the bed and then dangled them over Mason's face.
Mason moved his arm, resting it above his head. His eyebrows knotted together. "What are they?"
"What do they look like?"
"Keys?"
"They're your keys now." He let them drop onto Mason's chest.
Mason pushed himself up onto his elbows, glancing from the keys to David a few times, his mouth hanging open. "Keys to your place?"
David laughed. "No, to two doors down. Of course they're keys to here. Your keys."
"Are you sure?"
David pressed his hand to Mason's cheek, then leaned over him to steal a soft kiss. "Absolutely."
Mason moved his elbows so he fell back onto the bed. "Wow. That's… huge." He reached for the keys and held them so he could stare at them.
His reaction was both sweet and comical, which only made the warmth within David become more pronounced.
"I'd better go," he said, not really wanting to. "Ronnie will be annoyed if I'm late. Get some more sleep. Hang out here for as long as you want. Make yourself at home."
"Thanks," Mason breathed. "I mean it, David. This means a lot."
Not really wanting to leave but knowing he had to, David kissed Mason's forehead. "Take care of that ankle. Your choreographer needs you back in the studio as soon as possible."
Chapter Twenty-One
Mason
By Thursday morning, Mason's ankle felt completely fine, so he went in to the studio, only to be told—in no uncertain terms—that he wouldn't be allowed to dance until Monday. He knew Victoria and David were right, but that didn't stop him from fidgeting constantly while he sat on the side-lines taking notes on the choreography he was missing.
He wanted to dance. Wanted to move. Being still—unless he was snuggling with David—wasn't in his nature. But he put up with it because the last thing he wanted to do was be awkward or petulant; neither did he want to risk injuring his ankle again. Just because it felt fine didn't mean it was one hundred per cent.
He'd only just got home on Friday when his phone rang.
"Hey, Hazel."
"Hi, kiddo."
He winced, but he also had to grin at his oldest sister's nickname for him. To be fair, she was sixteen years older than he was. He hated the name, but he took it in good nature because Hazel had always watched out for him, and he loved her dearly. He loved all his sisters.
"Hope you haven't forgotten it's Dad's birthday next month."
"As if. Seventy-two years young."
She laughed. "I think that's how he sees it, too."
Mason often forgot that his dad was an old-age pensioner and had been for some time. It just didn't seem like he should be classified as one, considering how active he was. He still walked at least three miles a day, went swimming and to the gym several times a week. Like Mason, sitting still wasn't something he enjoyed. His mum called them both 'exhausting', which did pretty much sum up the two men in her life.
"We're going to throw him a party. Just at the house. Hopefully, the weather will be nice enough for a barbecue and drinks outside. Can you come home? It'll be on the Saturday."
Mason wandered over to the calendar that hung on his wall. He hadn't planned on going home for his dad’s birthday. Not because he di
dn't want to, but because it was a long trip, and a weekend didn't seem long enough to justify it. Realistically, it would be one day, if he got a train straight after rehearsals on the Friday. The trains on a Sunday weren't great, so he'd have to leave by mid-morning at the latest. But he had nothing planned that weekend, and seeing all his family in one go sounded great.
"Yeah, sure. I should be able to." Squeezing the phone between his cheek and shoulder, he grabbed a pen from one of the kitchen drawers and made a note on the calendar as Hazel carried on talking.
"Great, kiddo. Everyone will be so happy to see you."
He didn't get home as often as he wanted to. Hadn't since he'd joined his first company. But they all talked on the phone. His parents called him at least once a week, while he spoke to his sisters in rotation. It worked well, especially as most of his sisters saw each other at least three times a week and were more than happy to share his news. Privacy wasn't a thing his family knew much about.
"How are rehearsals going?" Hazel asked.
"I was out most of this week because I hurt my ankle, but otherwise they're going great."
"Nothing serious, I hope?"
"Just a sprain. It's fine now." He did a pirouette through his healed ankle as he spoke, just to be sure it could handle the movement. He didn't feel even a twinge of pain.
"I'm glad. Couldn't have you missing your opening night."
He laughed. "That's a few months away, yet."
"Even so, you take care, you hear?"
"Yes, boss."
"Cheeky."
They talked for some time. Hazel filled him in on what was happening with her and her family. She had three kids and was pregnant with her fourth, although she'd sworn not to have more after that. Her news always took longer than his, but Mason never minded. He loved hearing how proud she was of her kids, how Lily and Dylan were doing in school and about the funny things Oscar got up to in nursery. The older two had so many hobbies that Mason wasn't sure how they or Hazel kept up with it all. She must have been an elite organiser, not to mention a taxi driver.
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