Lamp oil

6. At my disposal

Tobirama

I knew Madara was a professional ballet dancer ever since I had googled him like a sucker.

I had tried holding the googling off for as long as possible. But after a few weeks of having known him, I couldn't help myself.

Meeting him had been interesting, to say the least. I would do anything, anything to relive those first few days again. I had already been a performer at the beach club for a few years then when suddenly, he was just there. In the bar. Mixing drinks.

I could feel his eyes on me as I juggled the poi, which had been my tools of choice for that evening. And I had worked extra hard, being incredibly aware of the tall, lean, long-haired raven watching me. It had gone on for a few days until one day, I chose to blow fire, and he was so engrossed in watching me that he dropped a wine glass, and it broke into a million pieces.

He had hidden his face in his hands in shame, which was why I decided to go up to him later that night; to show him that I didn't care about that glass. I had chatted him up, but I hadn't been able to get him to sleep with me. Not for a few weeks. During which I did my uttermost not to google him.

But in the end, I had succumbed, as we all do. And I had gaped as I found out he was a professional dancer in the most prestigious ballet company of the country, which happened to be in my city, and which also happened to be one of the best and most famous ballet companies in the world.

I had read his dancer's profile. I had read about him. I had watched videos. In the end, I was literally touching myself in front of the computer and I had decided that I must have him. I must have him.

The day after the googling, I had gone straight up to him at the bar after my performance.

"Didn't know you were a ballet dancer", I said.

"You obviously know now", he said nonchalantly.

"I know I'm going to fuck you. You know I'm going to fuck you. Why hold it off any longer?"

I had taken him that same night.

But I had never offered to go watch him dance. It was a power move from my side, a way of ascertaining I had the upper hand over the man. But truth was, he had never asked me to come watch him, either. Although now, he had.

I sat in the audience in the vast theatre, taking in all of the extravagance around me; the golden stucco works, the heavy red velvet. I had dressed up in a black shirt, black trousers with a belt and polished, black shoes, yet I felt incredibly out of place among the clearly cultured people around me who had come to watch the ballet. I noticed I was grabbing the armrests of my lush seat harshly, and I was biting and sucking at my tongue piercing like there was no tomorrow. I hated this feeling. The familiar feeling of not belonging. Of not belonging because I was uneducated. Was this how that homeless man felt in the world?

And then, the velvet rideau was pulled away from the stage, and the ballet began, making me forget all about not belonging.

It took a long time before Madara showed up on stage, but it was worth the wait. God, it was worth the wait. Whatever I had expected, I couldn't have imagined this in my wildest dreams.

Madara looked strong, tall, confident. He knew I was in the audience, yet he emitted such an elegant nonchalance it made me believe he didn't work extra hard for me, but was always this excellent. Wearing a light blue costume enhancing his leg muscles, his hair up in a masculine knot in his neck, he moved like he had never done anything else in his entire life, every muscle fibre in his body contracting to perfection. My mouth literally watered, and I found myself desperate for him. I never wanted the show to end, yet I had never been so eager to have him at my disposal.