Arabesque

Barrel Roll

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven— George interrupted his own counting as he landed the jump, pausing to finish the motion before he straightened, pumping his fist.

"Yes, let's fucking go!" He half yelled, half whispered. The other room by him was still in use — by an unfortunate hip hop dancer, it seemed, based on the music blaring; couldn't they make it any softer — and he didn't really care to disturb the people using it. That didn't mean that finally making the move the danseur had been working toward any less satisfying to complete. While the move wasn't so hard for him, the sequence leading up to the variant barrel jump had left George more dizzy than the spins he was expected to make on a regular basis.

Although it was cropped close to his head, George still had to sweep the plastered hair on his forehead back with an elated grin. The music had begun to wind down, the track ending with only a few base moves to the end. The ballet dancer completed what was left of the routine with a self-satisfied hum, eyes closed and relaxed.

Until he heard a cough.

The Brit's eyes flew open as he stumbled — unfortunately not gracefully whatsoever — to a stop, turning on his heels to face the two men at the entrance to the room. He must have looked a mess, slightly hunched over, out of breath and still shiny with exertion, since the taller man turned his head and coughed into his sleeve to hide a snicker. Huffing, George straightened to his full height — not that it was a lot — fixed his hair as best he could, and tried not too blush too hard.

"Yes?" He prompted when neither of them decided to speak. The dancer felt a bit bad at the sharpness in his tone, but they hadn't knocked, and that was a bit rude, wasn't it? The tone was deserved!

"I, uh—" The tallest one began first, glancing at the shorter. Dirty blonde hair crowned his head, sticking up in all directions, though purposefully, unlike George's own. His shy grin was sort of cute to the Brit, although he hadn't appreciated the earlier laugh at his expense. As he didn't have a name quite yet, he was designated Dreamboat. Brown eyes met what George assumed was green only briefly before he looked back down at the floor, which prompted the other to speak up.

"Mr. Notfound?" George, who had moved a bit further away in an effort to grab a jacket now that he was cooling down, flushed red on the back of his neck.

"That's just a stage name. George is fine."

"Well, Mr. George," the man began again. The Brit peered at him over his shoulder as he shrugged the jacket on. "we've decided we want you to be a lead in the dance."

Now that caught George's attention. Leads were fun, competitive parts. Parts that George rarely got to fill; because although he was probably one of the best danseurs the company had, his height was quite hard to fit into a partner dance. Not many people could pick him up, at the height he was, nor keep up with him. The dancer perked up, curious as to who they'd brought this time.

"So who's—" The realization struck when George turned once more. His mouth went dry. Oh. Oh god.

The Brit went to study Dreamboat's physique for not the first time since they'd met. The realization quickly became heavier with everything he noted. He was tall, check, muscular, check, and if the personality so far was anything to go by, pretty upbeat. Check. When Dreamboat noticed his stare, he brought one of the hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket out for a quick wave, accentuated by a cheeky wink.

"Meet your partner for the dance, Dream."

Dream? Surely, George had misheard.

"I'm— I'm sorry, what?"

"Dream." Dreamb— Dream, apparently, finally piped up. The easy grin the taller boy shot George froze him in place.

"It looks like you're packing up for tonight, so I'll leave you to it. Dream here will be in the studio tomorrow, if you'd like to get acquainted earlier than later. I trust you'll be taking the part, then?"

George snapped out of his small trance with a quick, hurried nod.

"Yep, I'll take it." He pushed out, though his tongue felt like it was weighed down.

"Excellent." The executive replied, clearly pleased. He left the room, the taller turning to follow.

"See ya' tomorrow, Georgie." Dream stuck his tongue out at the other playfully, flashing a peace sign before strolling out nonchalantly.

George was stunned.

What the fuck just happened?

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Comments and constructive criticism appreciated! :D