The way they move together feels perfect. He knows that his performance, the way that he moves, how he sells the choreography with gestures is off, but he doesn't quite know how to fix it, what he's doing wrong. He's never had a director, someone to guide him, and his focus has mainly been on Odette, trying to make it flawless, perfect. And even then, all he has is the choreography and filmed performances, trying to replicate Svetlana Zakharova, Gillian Murphy, Polina Semionova, and the other great Principals of the major ballet companies as he stares at himself in the mirrored wall.
He gasps, his breath sharp as he's pulled from the dance, the motion, the way that they move together when House touches him, grabbing him around his thin hips, and it's not part of the dance. His strong hands slide down and rub against the top of Chase's thighs, and he's flushed, still hard in his tights and he groans helplessly as House pulls him back flush against him. His ass pressed firmly into him. His breathing is rough and heavy, almost gasping as House grinds into his ass, and Chase is breathing fast, his heart racing at the awareness of how House has one hand between his legs, and Chase should be telling him to stop.
He's glad that House is behind him, because Chase is wrecked, and he's just glad that House can't see. He's squirming, pressing back into him and the grip that the man has on his hips, fighting to catch his breath but not quite managing it. He nods- emphatic- when House makes that demand, voices it like a command. Seduce me. Chase still doesn't really know how to do that, but he felt like he would have agreed to anything that House said in that tone of voice.
He wants to pull away from him, but he doesn't. There's a shameful part of him that just wants to stay like this, wants to feel the heat of House's body bleeding through the thin fabric of his tights and his shirt, almost searing where it's just bare skin. His lips are parted, his breath coming out as inarticulate noises, like he wants to say something, but there's just no words.
no subject
He gasps, his breath sharp as he's pulled from the dance, the motion, the way that they move together when House touches him, grabbing him around his thin hips, and it's not part of the dance. His strong hands slide down and rub against the top of Chase's thighs, and he's flushed, still hard in his tights and he groans helplessly as House pulls him back flush against him. His ass pressed firmly into him. His breathing is rough and heavy, almost gasping as House grinds into his ass, and Chase is breathing fast, his heart racing at the awareness of how House has one hand between his legs, and Chase should be telling him to stop.
He's glad that House is behind him, because Chase is wrecked, and he's just glad that House can't see. He's squirming, pressing back into him and the grip that the man has on his hips, fighting to catch his breath but not quite managing it. He nods- emphatic- when House makes that demand, voices it like a command. Seduce me. Chase still doesn't really know how to do that, but he felt like he would have agreed to anything that House said in that tone of voice.
He wants to pull away from him, but he doesn't. There's a shameful part of him that just wants to stay like this, wants to feel the heat of House's body bleeding through the thin fabric of his tights and his shirt, almost searing where it's just bare skin. His lips are parted, his breath coming out as inarticulate noises, like he wants to say something, but there's just no words.