Chase was a young dancer, something of a prodigy, though he had never liked the word. It seemed like when people called him a prodigy that they discounted how hard he had worked at this. He'd started dancing at the age of four, taught by his mother, who had been a principal dancer with the Australian Ballet when she had married his father. He'd fallen in love with it, and there had been classes, private instructors, competitions, working with children's ballet companies. His mother died when he was seventeen, and last year he'd competed in the Youth American Grand Prix (which was an international competition, despite the title). He won a two year contract with the New York City ballet.
His performance had been a risky gamble; a jazzy, contemporary variation on The Red Shoes performed en pointe. Men didn't typically use pointe shoes, but his instructor had thought that Robert's technique was too good not to show off. It had paid off, and he'd moved to America a few months back. But, the money he made wasn't enough to live on, and his father didn't believe in dance, and that was where his college classes came in. He was getting his pre-med degree, with his classes crammed in around rehearsals and performances.
Sometimes he'd skip college, but he never missed rehearsals.
Robert had a good eye, could feel the musicality in how certain people moved, and House was one of those people. He was stunningly good. Some people wrote him off because he was older by comparison, but they were idiots. He was gorgeous, in every sense of the word, even if he wasn't as traditionally handsome as the younger dancers. He watches House, watches his reflection in the mirror, until the man catches him, and Robert shifts, his face flushing red as he shrugs and smiles awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious.
"I, uh.. I like watching you," he admits softly, his blue eyes not leaving House's body as he reaches up and tucks a stray strand of blond hair back behind his ear. He doesn't intend it as a sexual comment, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't think of him that way. House had a great ass, which he can't help staring at as his gaze trails over the length of his strong, outstretched leg.
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His performance had been a risky gamble; a jazzy, contemporary variation on The Red Shoes performed en pointe. Men didn't typically use pointe shoes, but his instructor had thought that Robert's technique was too good not to show off. It had paid off, and he'd moved to America a few months back. But, the money he made wasn't enough to live on, and his father didn't believe in dance, and that was where his college classes came in. He was getting his pre-med degree, with his classes crammed in around rehearsals and performances.
Sometimes he'd skip college, but he never missed rehearsals.
Robert had a good eye, could feel the musicality in how certain people moved, and House was one of those people. He was stunningly good. Some people wrote him off because he was older by comparison, but they were idiots. He was gorgeous, in every sense of the word, even if he wasn't as traditionally handsome as the younger dancers. He watches House, watches his reflection in the mirror, until the man catches him, and Robert shifts, his face flushing red as he shrugs and smiles awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious.
"I, uh.. I like watching you," he admits softly, his blue eyes not leaving House's body as he reaches up and tucks a stray strand of blond hair back behind his ear. He doesn't intend it as a sexual comment, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't think of him that way. House had a great ass, which he can't help staring at as his gaze trails over the length of his strong, outstretched leg.