Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Joseph Stern is a creature of habit. He just wishes this trait did not extend to his subconscious.

It’s the same dream he has any time he’s stressed from work. Which is always. There are slight variations, but this one has been the default ever since they performed Anna Karenina three years ago. He’s performing, pirouetting more precisely, and with each completion the audience grows farther away, the lights dim, and no matter how hard he tries, how perfect he knows his form is, he spins into an empty, dark stage.

And then someone pushes him in front of a train.

Usually, he can shake the dream free by the time he’s reached Amnesty Lodge for his latte (his sole indulgence for the day). This morning, spring clouds refusing to part into a welcoming sky, he chews on the remnants of the dream until he reaches the counter.

“The usual?”

He snaps back to the present; Barclay, the cook, is smiling at him from behind the register. Not for the first time, Joseph notices that the smile seems shyer than the professional, friendly one he used to get.

“Yes, please. Short-staffed?” Barclay seldom works the counter or the coffee machines these days

“Only for about an hour; I love that so many of the staff can carpool, but if there’s a back-up on the bridge it kinda screws me.” Barclay makes the drink quickly, and Joseph cannot stop watching his hands. He loves his hands, how strong they look, how confidently they move. They could probably hold him easily, hell, they could hold him up easily too, preferably against the nearest wall.

“Here you go.” Barclay smiles and passes him back his travel mug, along with a small, brown bag. Joseph knows, without looking, that it’s a cookie, “For the road.”

This happens at least once a week. Joseph stopped trying to pay him for them five months ago.

He’s never eaten a single one.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; they look and smell incredible, every single one. But he can’t risk it; if he relaxes his stringent diet even a little, some part of him is certain he’ll turn into a ravenous beast and eat everything in sight.

Lucky for him, Mrs. Kim and her granddaughter are usually on the same bus as him, en-route to school as he heads into the center of the city, and Laci is always excited to get a cookie.

The rehearsal space for Kepler Metropolitan Ballet is in one of the side buildings to the art deco masterpiece of the theater. He ducks through a side door as a steady flow of event staff make their way up and down the steps like polo-shirt clad bees, loading in the tables and chairs and decorations for the donor appreciation dinner tonight.

Joseph enjoys the quarterly dinners, though in the last year it’s been harder to keep up his energy and his banter; thirty is pushing it for a dancer, and it’s a fight to keep any kind of spotlight on himself. Especially with-

“I made it expressly clear that no one is to interrupt me today. I am giving whoever left their bag in my rehearsal space three seconds to remove it before I break their toes one by one in order of size.”

“You know that’s mine, Apollo. Just like you know we’re short on space today because of the event prep.” Joseph turns away from refilling his water bottle at the sink to regard the other dancer.

Apollo Cold is aptly named; not in the sense that he brings the sun with him wherever he goes, but that he is as haughty as any Greek god and twice as ruthless.

He’s also the worst kind of unbearable co-performer; one that is genuinely, shockingly talented. The two of them have danced together for ten years, trying to claw their way atop each other to coveted male roles in every. Single. Show.

Joseph doesn’t hate Apollo. But he’s never been willing to walk down the stairs in front of him.

“Besides, when Kayleigh and Marie arrive, it makes sense for us to be in the same place to work on our notes.” Apollo is playing the Demetrius to his Lysander in Midsummer Nights Dream and the choreography in the lovers fight wasn’t as tight as it needed to be last Sunday.

Apollo says nothing, instead turning to begin unpacking his bag. Joseph welcomes the silence, knowing full well what the alternative is. He’s been less a target of the endless jabs Apollo throws at the world and anyone unlucky to inhabit it near him, these last few months. His fear is that might not be because the other dancer finally respects him.

Given the mood in the room, at this point his hope for the day is that Apollo decides to skip the dinner and spend his night on something other than being told how talented he is.

And since he’s making far-fetched wishes, he’d also like an all-expenses paid vacation to Pacific Northwest and for Barclay to give him his phone number.

“Couldn’t you have rented something nicer?” Apollo hisses as Indrid steps from the driver’s side of his dearly-loved mothmobile AKA his VW Van painted black and red, to join him on the sidewalk.

“No.” Indrid says mildly; he has to make it through at least two hours, better not start arguing with his twin before they even get in the building.

“As soon as we get inside, you are to detach from me entirely. And if you so much as think of humiliating me-“

“You will steal my car and run me over with it.”  Indrid smirks as Apollo growls at his line being stolen. As they climb the front steps he adds, “you could just have not invited me.”

“Then I would have arrived alone. Everyone else always brings a date or a family member or some other little hanger on. Showing up without one is a declaration of how you are not competent enough to maintain this career and your own life.”

Thinking of his brother’s spartan apartment, Indrid simply nods.

Apollo is off and mingling the instant they’re through the door; Indrid almost envies the ease with which he slips into normative charm, handing out “hellos” and complimenting the right people at the right times while Indrid is still trying to locate the drinks.

As he navigates the clusters of well-dressed dancers and even better dressed donors, he spies a figure turning away from it, highball in hand. Indrid is suddenly in Goldfinger, salivating over James Bond; the man is in a dark suit, his black hair slicked back to show off a handsome, refined face. He’s a dancer, Indrid can tell as much by the grace that carries himself over the floor; now if only he could put a name to the face he’d dearly like to get his lips on.

The man pauses to address Apollo, smile professional and friendly. Apollo says hello, but Indrid spots the way his lip curls a moment and his eyes narrow like he’s sizing up his opponent in a gunfight.

Apollo loathes one person more than anyone else in this company. And so Indrid decides it’s time to introduce himself to Joseph Stern.

Alcohol is calorie heavy and probably a negative when it comes to his overall health, but Joseph’s learned he gets fewer concerned looks as a dancer nursing a gin and tonic than he does when he attacks the buffet with any kind of enthusiasm. And having something in his hands keeps him from digging his nails into them whenever anxiety threatens to overwhelm him.

Was it always like this? Was he always like this?

“Is it any good? I do not usually partake at open bars, but they have some sort of flower cocktail that looks intriguing.”

The guest addressing him is way, way too cool to be at a ballet fundraiser. His hair is silver, tied half up to reveal red glasses on a narrow nose and features on the handsome side of alien. A tattoo of a moth peeks out from his collar, and his nails are painted a shimmering burgundy, and to cap it all off he’s managing to wear a short, leather jacket without looking like he’s in a biker bar.

“It’s not bad, but they do mix them weak so people use up the drink tickets and buy more.” He holds out his hand, “I’m Joseph. You must Indrid, Apollo’s brother.”

Black eyebrows rise as Indrid shakes it, “Is it that obvious?”

“Kind of hard to miss the resemblance, but it’s more you have a similar way of talking.”

“Our father insisted on certain forms of speech.” Indrid sips his San Pellegrino, “It is nice to formally meet you. It took me a moment to remember what role you’d had the last time I came to see Apollo perform.” A grin, so much more sincere and salacious than he’s ever seen on Apollo, “you were magnificent as Harker in Dracula.”

“I enjoyed it, even if I was a little sad I didn’t get to dance as, you know, Dracula.”

“You would have made a stunning figure, not doubt. Then again, us Colds have always had a rather menacing air to us without having to try.” That same smile, and Joseph is suddenly in a dark cave, something beautiful and dangerous slithering towards him with filthy, unspeakable things on its mind.

Indrid cocks his head, expression softening, “Apologies, I should not come on too strong, I have no idea if you are even, ah, on the market, as they say.”

“I don’t really have the time.” It sounds too exhausted when he says it, so he quickly adds, jokingly, “I have to compete with your brother, after all.”

“I sympathize.” Indrid gestures to a pair of empty seats, “perhaps we can share tales of our mutual woe?”

Joseph takes a seat, tries not to feel too excited when Indrid lets their thighs touch.

“You know, he and I both wanted to do ballet when we were little. Our father only acquiesced because it had the flair of culture about it and my mother had been one in her youth. She was still home with us when we were six. I, however, was not deemed well enough behaved and was not permitted to attend.”

“That seems harsh.”

Indrid shrugs, “In the end I think it was for the best.”

“What did you end up doing?”

“I’m a tattoo artist.”

“That’s amazing! I think tattoo as an art form is fascinating.”

Long fingers drum excitedly on Indrid’s thighs, “Would you like to see some of mine?”

They spend the next fifteen minutes scanning over Indrid’s Instagram, followed by another five of a folder deep in his phone for some medieval marginalia flash sheets. Joseph only gets up when he’s waved over to speak with a prominent donor. When he returns, Indrid has excitedly pulled up some cryptid-themed designs.

Joseph has never wanted a tattoo so badly as he does now.

As Indrid flips to a new image, a text pops onto the screen.

Duck: You being good, sugar?

Indrid blushes and begins typing a reply.

“Your boyfriend?” Joseph should have known; Indrid is flirting for fun, not because he’s actually available. Guys like him aren’t interested in uptight nerds like Joseph.

“No. Or, ah, not quite. Duck is my…my dom. I suppose that’s the most formal title to put to it.” He glances at Joseph, only continuing when he sees he’s not judging the confession, “we meet Tuesday nights. I find it’s excellent for my overall wellbeing.”

“But?” Joseph tacks on the word he heard lingering, unspoken, after Indrid’s sentence.  

A smile, small and meant for someone who isn’t there, “But Tuesdays turned to him stopping by work on Thursdays, or joining my boyfriend and I for coffee on Sundays…I suppose what I mean is that Duck makes me very happy. Whatever name we give it.” His usual smile returns, “would you like to see a picture?”

“Is he cute?” Joseph teases.

“I think so, but I know others may not agree. Do you like bears?”

“Is the pope Catholic?”

Indrid barks a laugh and shows him the photo. The stocky body and round face, Joseph was expecting.

The ranger uniform is kind of a surprise.

“Technically he was off duty. But technically that trail was also for staff-only.” Indrid studies the photo, smile taking on a mischievous edge, “may I send him a photo of us?”

Joseph nods and leans in, trying not to sigh when Indrid puts his arm around his shoulder. When they’re done, Indrid adds, “May I send it to Barclay—my boyfriend—as well?”

The name startles him, but he agrees. It’s a big city; odds are good Indrid’s Barclay isn’t the same one who’s starred in most of Joseph’s late-night fantasies.

Their conversation continues, easy and animated, with the only pauses coming when Joseph is called away to chat up and/or thank a donor. When he comes back this most recent time, Indrid now has a full plate of dessert bites, and is watching his brother on the other side of the room.

“Do you happen to know who that man is?”

“Mr. Capra. He’s a donor, his dad was actually the costumer for the ballet for decades. He does something in…securities? I think? He’s always been really nice to me. No stories of him being a creep to the dancers or extorting the managers or anything like that.”

“I see.” Indrid offers him a bite of a strawberry lemon blondie, and Joseph takes a bite without it ever leaving Indrid’s hand. It feels natural. Safe, somehow.

“I did receive a reply from Duck. He wanted to know, quote, where I found such a slick date. I told him at the theater.” He exaggerates the last word dramatically and Joseph snickers.

“I also said finders keepers. I got the slap emoji for that one. Oh! That reminds me, I want to show you a photo from the trip we took last summer to Point Pleasant, featuring the behind of a certain statue, now where is—awww” Indrid smiles as his finger slips, bring up a photo of a grey and white rat in a witch’s hat.

“Yours?”

“Yes, that’s Price, my others are Cushing and Lee.”

“Those are the coolest names ever.”

“I agree.” Indrid lowers his voice, “if you would like, I could take you to meet them.”

There’s another hour left in the party, with attendees he’s probably supposed to talk to. And he needs to stick to his sleep schedule, needs to not be too tired when he lets himself in to practice tomorrow.

“I’d love to.”

“I shouldn’t keep you.”

Apollo wrenches his attention away from the way the lavender tie compliments the grey in Vincent’s suit, and his hair, “You are not. I can go whenever I like. I am choosing to continue speaking with you.”

“I just meant that your ride seems to be leaving.”

He doesn’t bother glancing at the door to check, “I do not need Indrid to chaperone me. I can get home on my own. Now.” He scoots closer to the older man, “what were you saying about Sleeping Beauty.”

Vincent, mid-sip of his wine, goes “mmh” and picks up the thread of their conversation without missing a beat. Apollo wonders why he’s jealous of a wine glass.

Indeed, Vincent’s presence in his life has been a series of “whys.”

Why was this dull, mid-level donor speaking to him like Apollo cared what he had to say? Why, when Apollo bristled or snapped at him, didn’t he back down or excuse himself, but instead say, softly “there’s not need to be unkind.” Why had Apollo felt chastened yet not angry when he had, felt as if he should fall to his knees and rub his cheek against slack-clad thigh, begging for another chance?

Then.

Why wasn’t Vincent at this function, or why was he here but not speaking solely to Apollo? Why did tan skin and greying hair and a fully unremarkable face make Apollo’s useless, traitorous heart flutter? Why, with all his brains, couldn’t Apollo contrive to see him more?

Tonight, the question has become: why on earth will Vincent not take the hint that he wants to sleep with him? Apollo is extremely good looking and practically in his lap? What does the old man want? Permission? To be asked? For Apollo to actually say what he wants?

Not in this lifetime. He has dignity. Always better to make someone do what you want for you.

Vincent pauses his genuinely interesting commentary on how ballet has influenced animation, and Apollo makes his move.

“I rather like this jacket.” He trails a finger over the lapel, embroidered with hidden goldenrods and pansies, “you always wear the most interesting things.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Vincent teases.

“What’s on the lining? Ever since you came to Rite of Spring with that scandalous scene hidden inside your suit, I have been curious as to what other secrets your clothing hides.”

An indulgent smile as Vincent undoes his jacket, “No satyrs this time, I’m afraid.”

The lining is pure, pale purple silk. Apollo wants to bury his face in it.

“Is it up to your standards?” There’s laughter in his voice now, deep and dark and bubbling up like a spring in a cave.

“Indeed.” Apollo hazards another trace of his finger, this time over the dress shirt, “so much of you is. It tantalizes me.” He locks eyes with his prey, “and my ride has left me here, all alone. Perhaps you could take me home instead?”

For one, shining moment, Vincent’s eyes turn hungry and devilish. Then he blushes, taking Apollo’s hand in his own, only to move it back to Apollo’s lap.

“I’m flattered, Apollo. Really. But I’m a donor; it’s my rule that I don’t take any of the dancers to bed. It never felt right, I’d be too worried someone would agree to something only out of fear for their job, or to get something out of me.”

“I am not just some dancer.” He snarls.

“I know, but you’re still a dancer at a place I give a lot of money too. I’m sorry, Apollo, but my answer is no.”

Apollo grips the stem of his own glass so hard he feels it starting to crack, “Fine. You are still being absurd, and a coward too. As if an old, fat, grey goat like you could make me do anything I did not want to do.”

“Apollo, I mean it, this isn’t personal, so please don’t make it that way. I’d still very much like to keep getting to know you-“

“I do not want your pity.” He hisses as he stands.

Then he tosses his drink onto the other man and strides away, Vincent’s disappointed sigh somehow louder to him than all the murmurs from the crowd.

Joseph knows two things.

One: He is not cool enough to be standing in this apartment.

Two: In spite of this, the man who owns this apartment still very much wants to fuck him.

He’s peering into the cage in the corner of the living room, the trio of rats sniffing at him and the treat bag Indrid provided, when his host wanders back from the kitchen, phone in hand.

“Do you, by chance, frequent Amnesty Lodge?”

“Oh my god.” He straightens, setting the bag carefully out of the reach of little paws, “it is that Barclay.”

“Indeed. Needless to say, he was a bit surprised to receive a picture of me with one of his regulars. Not in a bad way, of course, and he’s out of town for the night so he won’t be coming home while you’re here.” Indrid sits on the black couch, the vaguely industrial, UFO-shaped light above him making him all the more ethereal as he pats the cushion beside him.

Joseph joins him, the nerves that come with lack of practice hitting him all at once as he thinks about Indrid on this couch with someone as gorgeous as Barclay.

“Tell me, pet.” Indrid strokes his cheek, “are there any particular kinks you like to indulge?”

He wants to revel in the pet name, something he hasn’t had in close to a decade, but he’s tripped up by the fact that his own experiences will probably sound so boring to man a who’s gleefully poly and kinky that it will literally act as a turn off. Maybe it’s the remainder of the gin in his system, but the thought of Indrid knowing how pathetic his exploits have been makes him want to cry.

“I, um, I get up to a lot. I’ve tried a bunch of different things.”

“Really? I thought your work made that difficult.” Indrid cocks his head.

“Dating is hard but the apps make it easier to find hookups.”

Indrid nods, clearly believing him, “That makes sense. Oddly enough, I’ve never used those for any sort of BDSM or such; I met Duck through mutual friends. But tell me” he leans in, nuzzling Joseph’s jaw, “what kinds of things do you get up to?”

“I, well, one time I matched with this guy and we met in a dive bar. And took me back into the bathroom and made me blow him, and, um” his imagination fails him, “fuck, I’m sorry, I made that up. I haven’t been laid in three years, and the last time was basically missionary with the lights on.”

Indrid removes his glasses, perplexed, “Why lie? There’s no shame in inexperience.”

Joseph hides his face in his hands, “I didn’t want you thinking I was a completely uncool nerd.”

“You needn’t worry about such things” Indrid takes his hands, moving them away from his face, “Besides, I like good boys. Especially ones that have not been paid attention to in far too long.” He grins, wolfish, “you can make them do just about anything.”

“You can absolutely make me do anything.” Joseph whispers

“In that case, I demand you give me many kisses.”

Indrid kisses him once, on the nose. Joseph laughs and moves in for a true kiss, finds Indrid’s mouth eagerly awaiting his own. Indrid hums, happily, when their tongues meet and shit Joseph had forgotten the glimpse of a tongue piercing he got earlier.

A bare foot nudges his ankle, Indrid urging him fully onto the couch as the silver-haired man lays back. Hands glide up his sides, tease playfully along his ass, and caress his back and head, Indrid sighing and practically purring when Joseph returns to exploratory touches with his own. It’s heaven to be wanted, even for just a night.

Indrid’s nails graze gently up and down his sides and he arches, then shudders. If the light touches are taking him apart, lord preserve him if Indrid decides to take things further.

“Eager, pet?”

Joseph realizes the shifting of their hips has been almost entirely from him, Indrid simply pushing up to meet his increasingly needy grinding.

“Yes.”

“Then be a good boy for me and remove your pants.” Indrid slides to floor once Joseph stands, waits for him to sit back down on the couch before scooching between his legs.

“My, my, you’re already rather slick for me. But I did not come all the way down here not to enjoy myself.”

“You don’t have to, I mean I can AH!” His legs fall open as Indrid teases his dick.

“There we are.” Indrid slips a finger inside and Joseph gasps, “I do love taking a handsome man apart on my fingers.”

“Indrid” he whimpers, reaching for him. The kneeling man takes one hand and rests it on his shoulder, the other on his increasingly messy hair.

“Right here, pet. Just relax. I won’t ask anything too strenuous of you tonight.”

He manages to laugh between his moans, “I thought Duck was the dom.”

“He is, and for him I am as good as good can be. But with you” he adds another finger, “I am in charge, and you will do as I say.”

“Yes.” He tries to fuck himself on Indrid’s fingers, but the touch is too languid, without a true tempo for him to follow.

“So eager to please. You and Barclay have that in common. What do you think, pet? Shall I send him a picture of you like this? Maybe that would finally make him act on his crush.”

“His, his what?”

“Crush, sweet one.” Indrid looks up at him, amused, “do you think he hands out free cookies and makes special drinks for everyone who comes through the door?”

“I, he’s just, he’s so nice, I figured he did it when he felt like. I didn’t realize the drink was-“

“Seasonal. You liked it so much he made sure the recipe was there for anyone to make when you came in.”

“He didn’t have to, I didn’t mean to-“

“Focus, pet.” The “T” is sharper this time, Indrid adding a third finger and far more force. Joseph bites down another apology, watches Indrid’s hand as it moves in and out of his body.

“Mmm, you do follow directions beautifully. Duck would have such fun with you.”

“Nng?” Is all of the follow up Joseph can manage.

“Let’s move to the bedroom and I can tell you while you ride me like the sweet, obedient thing you are.”

“I, I don’t think I have the patience to make it to bed.”

Indrid grins, giddy, and executes an odd roll and crawl over to a bowl by the T.V that Joseph now realizes is full of condoms.

“A courtesy to visitors of all kinds.” Indrid explains, nearly chirping out his next laugh as Joseph scrambles down to join him on the floor and yanks his pants down to his knees.

Once the condom is on, Joseph sinks down with a groan, too desperate to have Indrid inside him to worry about savoring the moment. Indrid lets out a high sound that would be comic if it weren’t so endearing.

“Oh yes, yesyes, good boy, where was I” His hands settle comfortingly on Joseph’s hips, “ah yes, I, AHnnn, I think Duck would thoroughly enjoy you, and he would also thoroughly enjoy ordering me to, to rail you into the nearest flat surface and spank me if he thought I was being too gentle.”

“Fuck, Indrid.” Joseph braces his hands on Indrid’s thighs, fucks himself on him with abandon.

“Or, or he and I could have a lovely time tying you up and working you over with whatever toys we pleased, so that when Barclay came home he found you all wrapped up like a present and ready to go. Let, let him know he didn’t have to be gentle, we’d made sure you could take him, and then leave him to fuck you like a toy while we got off listening to you scream-“

Joseph chokes out what he hopes is a yes, dropping down to kiss Indrid fiercely, managing to find the angle that puts friction on his dick and chases the sensation. Indrid moans into his mouth, and it’s only after his orgasm finally finds him that he realizes the sound was him coming, and that his cock is starting to soften even as Joseph tightens around it.

Breathless, he manages to pull off, then rolls the condom away and tosses it in the trash by the T.V. Indrid cuddles up to him, boneless, and kisses his neck.

“Goodness, I got rather carried away at the end there.”

“I didn’t mind.”

“Clearly not.” A kiss to his lips, gentle and satisfied, “I meant what I said; I think they would both like you. Even if they never had sex with you. Or…if you only wanted things to be a one-time event with me. I would also still like you. Not that I do not like the sex.” He rubs his forehead, “Apologies, you have me rather tongue-tied.”

“I think I follow. Let me think about it?” He’s borrowing time against the inevitable. Right now he does not give a shit.

“Of course. Now, come along; I have a mothman pillow just waiting for you to rest your head on it.”

Joseph fully expects Indrid to be asleep when he leaves the next morning. Instead, he finds him in the kitchen, bleary-eyed but insistent that he was not going to see Joseph off without a goodbye.

He takes the offered travel mug, promising to return it, and the kiss goodbye with a promise to make plans for a date soon.

When he gets home, it’s not until he’s packing his practice bag that he sees the announcement from the company. The fall ballet will be The Creature. A piece he’s been lobbying them to stage for over a year, and one where he intends to get the lead or die trying.

His phone buzzes. Three hearts and a “thank you,” sent from Indrid’s number.

He closes the phone and tucks it into his bag. The date will have to wait. He has a part to win.

Chapter Text

As Apollo stretches on the barre the next morning, he feels everyone looking at him. They whisper about what a scene he’d caused, throwing a drink on a donor, “Especially someone as agreeable and kind as Mr. Capra.” They avoid him, as if he was the Typhoid Mary of bad moods. This is perfectly acceptable to Apollo, he's in no mood to talk to anyone; Not even Kaleigh, his only real friend in the company.

How could Vincent humiliate him like that? He’d never been that forward with anyone, and Vincent had the nerve to reject him simply on principle. Ridiculous. Any donor or dancer would be lucky to have Apollo in their bed, let alone him asking for it. Vincent was a fool, but an even bigger fool was walking through the doors now. Apollo would never call it relief or happiness that Joseph had arrived, but he was pleased that he had something else to distract him from his wounded pride: Competition.

Joseph tries to stay completely focused as he sets his practice bag to the side and prepares for class. He needs to start proving that he was perfect as the lead in the fall ballet now, by showing how diligent and focused he is. Those are his best qualities in this company, after all. He’d even skipped his usual trip to Amnesty Lodge, opting for black coffee at home. He isn't sure how to handle the knowledge that Barclay had been returning his affections all along. What kind of fantasies does Barclay have about him? Are they sweet or more salacious? How much time had Stern wasted being alone, when he could have just said something? No, this was exactly the kind of thinking that would distract him. He can't afford that.

 “Buongiorno, Joseph!” A familiar voice greets him. The dark-haired man turns around and looks down at the petite red head with a smile.

 “Ciao, Melody.” Stern returns the greeting and smile.

“I saw the announcement. I can’t imagine how excited you are for The Creature.” Melody says, eyes filled with excitement “How long have we been speaking on this?”

Joseph knew it had been since the ballet premiered in London. A contemporary ballet about a man being experimented on in an attempt to prepare him for the lonely existence of space travel. Not only did the premise grab Stern’s attention, but the themes were ones he could relate with to an unhealthy degree. Loneliness, self-isolation, the pressure of perfection-

“Joseph?” Melody asked, her brow furrowed. This was obviously not the first time she had said his name. “Are you alright?”

The man shakes his head to try and dislodge his dark thoughts. “Yes, I think I’m just a bit tired after the dinner last night.”

The shorter dancer smiles knowingly. “Did Apollo’s brother keep you busy last night?” Melody asks in Italian.  It was one of the many languages Stern had picked up in his work. The day they’d met, Melody could not remember the English word for tights and had been calling them collant all day. Joseph had no trouble understanding her, and their friendship was sealed.

Joseph flushes at her implication, though he's grateful they're having this conversation in a way no one could hear. “Melody, please.”

“I knew it.” She laughs, but not unkindly.

“It was probably just the one night.” Joseph insists “I don’t have time for anything serious right now.”

“There’s always time for happiness, my friend.” Melody says with a wink before moving to her usual spot in the practice room.

Joseph checks the clock. He needs to start warming up, he can't waste any more time. He realizes, unfortunately, that the only space left on the barre is the spot right next to Apollo. He takes a deep breath, moves over silently to the available spot and starts to work.

“You’re not getting the lead.” Apollo says coldly, not even looking at Stern. It's as if the blonde can sense when Stern was within verbal striking distance.

Joseph sighs, believing that this was just Apollo’s usual verbal barbs.  He doesn't know what happened at the dinner last night. He isn't aware of the hurt feelings Apollo needs to get out of his system with vitriol. “That’s not up to you, that’s up to the director.”

Apollo turns to face Joseph, lifting his right leg up into a standing split, making one long, straight line of black ballet tights. “And do you really think the director is going to pick a dinosaur like you?”

Joseph’s hands tighten on the barre, and he curses himself internally for giving Apollo even a fraction of a reaction. “I think the director will pick whoever best suits the role, like always, regardless of age.”

“Keep deluding yourself, Stern.” The younger man says, lifting his left leg to the barre and stretching his hamstring. “But we both know who has the stamina for a role like that.”

Joseph begins to stretch out his hamstring as well and decides to just ignore Apollo. Apollo couldn’t understand the depth this role would require. Apollo has talent in spades, but his acting is superficial. The younger man is good at characters that were like him: vicious and fickle. Demetrius, Dracula, Baron Von Rothbart, High Brahmin, the list went on. Apollo couldn’t play someone vulnerable and unsure of himself, as that would require an ounce of self-awareness he didn’t have.

Joseph has to get this role, not just for his sake. He needs to save the rest of the company from Apollo’s ego.

“When is your next free evening?” Indrid asks over the phone a week later.

Stern packs up his practice bag as he prepares to finally head home, speaking to Indrid through a single Bluetooth headphone. “I’m not sure. There’s a new production they’ll be casting for soon and I want to get my practice time in.”

Joseph had been spending most of his time in lessons, rehearsals for upcoming productions, practicing by himself when everyone else had gone home, and sleeping. Eating came only when he needed the calories to keep going, and he’d skipped his latte treats every day to try and stay focused. If he was being honest with himself, he was avoiding Barclay. He doesn't have time to start anything with the brawny man. That wouldn’t be fair to his crush. He was pulled from thoughts when Indrid continued on.

“For The Creature, yes?” Indrid asks.

“Apollo told you about it?”

“Yes, it seems like a fascinating piece. I think you’d be perfect for the lead, personally.”

Stern smiles at the compliment, even if he isn't sure how much Indrid could mean it. “Thank you. Anyways, I have to practice as much as I can, so I can’t promise anything any time soon.”

“Well, I have a late client scheduled on Thursday. Would you be free to grab some dinner before you head home?”

Stern thought about it as he left the building, heading to his bus stop. He usually occupied the rehearsal space alone until 7.

“… when do you think you’ll be finished?” he asks, not daring to hope.

“I should be done around 6:30.”

“Oh, I’m usually working until 7, so I-“

“I can meet you at the theater, it’s not too far from my studio.” Indrid cuts in.

Joseph is a little stunned and flattered by how insistent Indrid was being. “… If you’re willing to wait, I’d like that very much.”

“I can be patient when I want to be.” Indrid almost purred into the phone. “Where would you like to go?”

Stern waits at his stop and thinks through all the restaurants close to the theater that were safe to go to for his diet, but were also nice places to go. “How about Haruto House?”

“Sounds lovely.” Indrid says, a smile in his voice.

“I thought you didn’t like sushi?” Duck asks as he sits on the couch at Indrid’s place, listening to him detail his date with the handsome ballet dancer that the silver haired man had snatched up.

“I like California Rolls,” Indrid answers. “And their appetizers are good as well.” He sits in Duck’s lap, cuddling up to the shorter man.

Duck rests his hands on the back of Indrid’s neck and lower back. “I’m surprised you managed to nail him down. From the way you talked about him, I thought you wouldn’t see him again until the end of… the season?” the man says as a question. Ballet is not Duck’s world in the slightest, only hearing about it through Indrid.

Indrid smiles and nodds. “That is what you’d call it. And yes, I was worried about that as well.” He said. “But I was… persistent.” He explains with a slightly embarrassed smile. “I was worried I’d push him too far, but he seemed really happy when I met up with him.”

Duck places a languid kiss on Indrid’s neck, just below his ear. “I’m glad y’all worked it out.”

Indrid shivers and sighs at the intimacy. “Yes, I… I went into the practice room a bit before he was actually done.”

Duck raises a brow and smirks. “Wanted to get a peak at him in his element?”

“I couldn’t help myself.” Indrid insists. “He had his earbuds in, but… I felt like I could hear the music all the same when I watched him.” He sighs dreamily. “He could’ve seen me through the mirror he was dancing in front of, but he was so focused, he didn’t even notice until after he was done.”

Duck gives Indrid a knowing, half-lidded look. “Oh you have got it bad, sugar.”

Indrid’s cheeks pinken, but his expression is unashamed. “Perhaps I do. Then after we left for dinner, we just couldn’t stop talking, just like before. I got to know a bit more about his career history, though not much about his personal life.” Joseph has a knack for skirting conversations away from certain subjects like friends, hobbies or anything else that didn’t somehow involve ballet. Indrid knows he’ll have to find a way to cut through that defense eventually.

“Did you talk to him about Barclay?” Duck asks, rubbing soothingly at his back.

Indrid sighs. “We did discuss it. He explained that he’d been really focused on work and hadn’t had the time to stop by Amnesty. But he did end up visiting the next day, according to Barclay.”

Barclay texted him Friday morning on his break, expressing how relieved he was to see Joseph again. His boyfriend had even given Stern his number, and they’d been texting each other at least once a day ever since.

“After that awkwardness, everything went smoothly. Dinner was lovely, and he was kind enough not to say anything about my lack of an adventurous palette.” Indrid chuckles. “I invited him up again, but he said he needed to rest for more practice the next day.”

“Want me to tie him up for you next time? Make it so he can’t get away until you’re satisfied?” Duck whispers in Indrid’s ear, the hand on the back of his sub’s neck tightening as his other hand moves down to grab at his ass; his fingers teasing the base of the plug he’d worked in there an hour ago.

Indrid lets out a whining moan. “I think he’d like that, as long as we talked first. He’d look lovely in your knots. The silver rope would look so handsome on him.”

Duck smiles as he let go of Indrid’s neck, moving his hand down to his phone. A few swipes of the screen later, and Indrid lets out a yelp, the plug inside of him vibrating sharply. “Now you keep your hands on my shoulders while I have my way with you. If you’re really good, I’ll let suck my dick. How’s that sound?”

“E- Exquisite, sir.” Indrid pants, his cock already hard in his comfy sleep shorts.

“That’s my good boy.” Duck says as he set his phone to the side and manhandles Indrid until the lithe man is straddling his lap. The shifting about makes Indrid keen and whimper as the toy shifted, but he keeps his hands right where they were supposed to be.

“Now tell me, sugar, what position would be the best for our dancer? Shame to let all that flexibility go to waste.” Duck says in a casual drawl that makes Indrid’s skin burn with desire.

“I think a hogtie would utilize him best AH! Ohgoodness” Indrid squeaks as Duck grabs at his cock through his shorts. If he wasn’t hard before, he's completely rock solid now.

“I think that’s a mighty fine idea.” Duck leans in and kisses at Indrid’s neck, his grip on the silver haired man’s cock relentless.

“M-Maybe something that takes even more of his movement?” Indrid panted, the mental images his mind was creating making it easier to get to the edge of his desire. “Tying him backwards on a chair could, ohgracious, give us more access.” He moaned as Duck turned up the vibrations on the plug. He knows it can't make him climax though, only Duck’s hand could do that now. He grabs onto the fabric of Duck’s shirt as he whines. “Sir, please.”

“Please what, sugar? Gotta be specific.” Duck asks with fond cruelty.

“P-Please allow me to cum, sir. Oh god, I can’t hold out much longer.” Indrid gasps as Duck moves his hand up and down his cock faster.

“Course you can, sweet thing. Long as you don’t mind cummin’ in these sexy little shorts of yours?”

That sends Indrid over the edge; he cries out as he makes a mess of himself. He shivers in Duck’s lap as he starts to come down from the high of his orgasm.

Duck kisses his cheek. “And look at that, my perfect Indrid managed to obey. I know it must’ve been real hard’.”

“Incredibly.” Indrid gasps for air.

“I think that deserves a reward.” Duck slowly removes Indrid’s hands from his shoulders and kisses his sub’s knuckles. “You want me to take off my pants, or-“ Duck cuts himself off with a laugh as Indrid drops down to the floor in one surprisingly graceful move. “Be careful, slim. Don’t want you hurtin’ yourself on my account.”

Indrid makes quick work of Duck’s belt and pants. “If you were in my position, you would be just as eager.” He said, pulling down everything that Duck wore from the hips down, the clothes pooling around his ankles. Duck’s voice might be the pinnacle of calm and assured domination, but one look at his slick folds tells him that his dom is just as affected by the events as he is. “You’re dripping, sir.”

Duck runs his calloused fingers through long silver hair. “That’s what happens when my ‘Drid’s so good for me. Now don’t let that go to waste, got it?”

Indrid tries to nod and realizes that Duck’s grip on his hair is too tight for him to do so. That realization makes Indrid’s softening cock twitch in his shorts. “Understood, sir.”

With that, Duck pulls Indrid’s face between his legs. He lets out a long moan as the skinny man wraps his lips around his own hardened cock. “That’s it, sugar. Just, goddamn, just like that.  Show me how grateful you really are.”

Indrid takes this as an invitation to let his hands roam over Duck’s luscious body. He takes his time caressing his thick thighs and belly, all while focusing on rubbing his pierced tongue against the head of Duck’s cock.

“Jesus Christ, ‘Drid, you are just such a good boy. Makin’ me feel good just like I asked. Couldn’t ask for a more obedient, perfect FUCK!” Duck shouts as he comes startlingly, not letting Indrid move away from him as he shudders in the aftershock. It’s not as though Indrid wants to anyways, focusing on running his tongue over Duck’s folds to taste every bit of him. The only useful thing Duck can do as Indrid licked at him is to stop the plug that's still vibrating in Indrid’s now sensitive ass.

Duck sits back when he’d finally calms down and pulls Indrid back up onto his feet. He carefully removes Indrid’s soiled clothes and bundles them together. The dom uses that same care as he removed the plug from Indrid before laying his spindly man onto the couch, smoothing his stray silver locks out of his sweat damp face. “Wait right here while I clean up, okay sugar? Be right back after I’m done.”

Indrid nods, Duck’s charming voice settling him into a drowsy state. One moment, Duck was kissing his forehead and the next, he was cleaned and wrapped up in a fuzzy yellow blanket. Duck was holding him close, now also clean. “How you feelin’, sugar?”

“Lighter than air.” Indrid says with a content yawn, pressing as much of himself into Duck as he can. “And you?”

Duck leans down, giving Indrid a thorough kiss on the lips. “You always make me happy, ‘Drid. You know that.”  He says with a smile.

Indrid weakly holds onto Duck’s shirt as he kisses him again. He needs more kisses immediately, and Duck is happy to provide.

A week after his date, Stern isn't sure how he was doing mentally. The cast for Creature is still up in the air, so that means that he has to continue with long practice hours and stay focused on almost nothing but work. On the plus side, he’d been texting Barclay a little every day. Nothing of great consequence on the surface, but he was starting to get to know his crush more and more in little ways. Like how Barclay seemed to remember every birthday he’d ever learned, how the cook always made time for his boyfriend and friends, how reliable he was as a coworker. These were all things the dancer might have guessed, but they felt so much more real. So maybe it was possible for them to actually get together, once the most important show of Joseph’s entire career was over.

Then there was Indrid, still checking in on him most days with small texts and pictures of his rats, Duck and his completed tattoos at work. He’d need to figure out how to balance both men in his life, when he had a fraction of time to spare. If Indrid and Barclay could make it work with the addition of Duck, then maybe-

“It’s not a good look being on your cellphone so much.” Apollo scolds, suddenly beside Stern.

Stern manages not to drop his phone, simply locking the screen and turning around to face Apollo. He doesn't want the blonde to see the photo his twin had just sent. It's unfair how good Indrid looks in black shorts. “Is that an actual attempt at advice, Apollo?”

“No. I simply want you to realize how much you’re slipping from your position, and that you should leave because of it.” The younger man says, crossing his arms.

“We are on a water break, I think I can use that time as I see fit.” Stern replies

“If you really cared about getting the lead, you would be practicing during breaks as well.”

“Oh, like you?” Stern asks dryly.

Apollo is silent for a moment, unable to object to Stern’s logical response. That meant it was time to change tactics. “You’ve been on your phone more in general. Who is wasting their time talking to you?”

Stern raises a brow, confused. Is Apollo not aware of his situation with Indrid? That wasn’t possible, Apollo was at the party that led to his and Indrid’s first hookup (only hook up so far). “Indrid, of course.”

Apollo’s eyebrows shoot up. “What do you mean ‘Of course’?!” he says. “What is he telling you about me?” he snarled.

“Believe me, you are the last thing we want to talk about.” Stern rolls his eyes.

“I don’t believe you, actually.” Apollo cut back. “Is this some new strategy of yours? Get close to my brother to distract me? If you had any sort of social life, I’d do something similar. So I’ll give you credit for that, but know that such a relationship with my brother will have no effect on me!”

Stern can't completely bite back his laughter. “Apollo, I want that role more than anything, but if you think my interest in your brother is just a way to mess with you, then you don’t know anything about Indrid.”

“I know enough to understand that he is a little freak, who only attracts other little freaks… you know what?” Apollo says, his posture suddenly relaxing. “Since that is the case, I have nothing to worry about. He’ll just drag you down to his level.” And with that, Apolllo turns on the balls of his feet and moves to Kaleigh and the barre that was closest to her.

Stern clenches his jaw to stop himself from defending Indrid. There's no point, not with Apollo. When that defensive thought abates, he's left pondering on Apollo’s statement ‘If you had any sort of social life,’. It leaves him feeling hollow, a sensation he’d like to chase away. So Stern opens his phone again and sends a quick message to Indrid.

Joseph: ‘I don’t know how you could stand to grow up with Apollo, much less continue to interact with him.’

Some time passed before Joseph received a text message back.

Indrid: ‘Hey Joe, this is Duck. Indrid’s driving at the moment, so I’m texting for him.’

Indrid: ‘Anyways, Indrid says that he’s used to it by now. My two cents? Between Apollo and Indrid, I think Indrid got all the good stuff.’

Joseph chuckles at Duck’s response. He cant' say he disagrees with the theory.

‘Duck, have you interacted with him much?’ He asks, desperate for any knowledge related to Duck. This is his first time speaking to Indrid’s dom directly, so he’d take any conversational leads he had.

Indrid: ‘Not at all, and thank god for that. Can’t really deal with the kind of person Indrid says he is, and I work with bears for a living.’

Joseph: ‘Well, they’re much calmer around their own kind, I imagine.’ Stern stared at his message to Duck. What the hell was he thinking? Duck was a very attractive man, and from Indrid’s glowing reviews, he was an excellent dom and an even better person. A joke like that surely would fall flat.

And yet,

Indrid: ‘I think that’s pretty true. You interested in bear hunting, slick?’

The dancer’s cheeks burn in an instant. Is this really happening? Is Indrid’s dom flirting back? ‘I have an immense appreciation for bears, though I’ve never had the pleasure of hunting one myself.’

Indrid: ‘Damn shame. I think you’d be really good at it. Could give you some points if you wanted. Even some demonstrations, if that suits you.’

Joseph felt like his heart was going to pop. Then, much to his chagrin, the instructor called an end to the break in 5 minutes.

Joseph: ‘I unfortunately have to go. Please give Indrid my best. It was nice talking to you finally.’

Indrid: ‘Pleasure’s all mine, Joe. Hope I’ll be talking to you in person real soon.’

Stern smiles at the message before putting his phone away.

Focused. He has to stay focused. No matter how giddy he felt now, it would be nothing compared to landing the lead. He just had to keep focused. As Stern made his way to his own part of the barre, he feels a twinge in his leg. He rubs at it with a sigh. He needs to stretch a bit more extensively before they started again.

Chapter Text

It’s past eight at night, but Joseph tells himself that once he finishes the passage of the audition material, he’ll go.

He’s been telling himself that since six.

Loathe as he is to admit it, every time he removes his earbuds and hears the tell-tale scuff of Apollo’s feet in the practice room across the hall, his willingness to pack up and go home wavers. They have tomorrow off, after all. It won’t interfere with his practice tomorrow if he stays a little longer.

Halfway through this run, he moves into a grand jete. It’s a motion he’s done thousands of times, landing each one of them.

This time, he doesn’t.

His right foot connects with the floor with a pop and a searing, sharp pain tears through the back of his right leg, sending him to the ground in a heap.

He screams. He doesn’t mean to, it’s some instinctual, animal cry that leaps from his throat and bounds around the room as he tries and fails to stand up enough to hobble to his bag.

There’s no use, trying to stand makes it ten times worse, and he can’t risk exacerbating whatever has happened. There’s also no sound of feet from the other room.

Pride stifles him a moment before being kicked to the back of his mind by practicality.

“Apollo!” He yells as loud as he can manage, “are you still here?”

Nothing, then soft sound of feet. They aren’t coming any closer.

“Apollo!”

This time the footfalls stop in reply, but still won’t move toward him.

“God damn it, Cold, I know you can hear me! I need help!”

The other dancer appears in the doorway, fluorescent lights of the hall making him wraith-like as he takes in the scene with a widening grin.

“Yes. I would say you do.”

“I need” he swallows down a pained gasp, “I need you to hand me my phone. It’s in my bag. I need to call an ambulance.”

“And if I do not? After all, it would please me beyond measure to leave you here, weeping, in the dark, you arrogant relic.”

Joseph looks up, leveling him with the strongest glare he can manage, “Then I’ll crawl to the bag myself. And the first thing I’ll do once I’m out of the hospital is find you and hit your fucking kneecaps with a baseball bat until they shatter.”

Apollo reaches into Joseph’s bag, removing the phone. When he’s close enough to hand it over, there’s a moment where Joseph is positive the other man is going to kick him.

“That” the phone lands in his lap, “is the only thing I have ever heard you say that was worth respecting.” He pads the door and then turns with a triumphant grin, “enjoy your hospital stay. I would say I hope it will not be long, but we both know that is a lie.”

Then he flips the light switch, leaving Joseph in the dark.

It must be the painkillers. That’s why he’s heard the doctor wrong. It can’t be his achilles, it can’t.

“In this instance, the damage is severe enough that surgery is really our only legitimate option.”

“How, how long will that take?”

“The surgery itself is usually only an hour” a nurse steps in and whispers in her ear. The doctor nods and continues, “is the emergency contact you wrote down someone in the area? We can’t release you without someone to drive you home and help you get inside and settled.”

He shakes his head, “No, no that’s my sister, she’s too far away. I can, let me find someone else.”

His fingers shake as he scrolls through his contacts; his family is all out of state. Melody might help, but he can’t risk dragging her away from her own practice or the sleep she needs to be able to. She doesn’t deserve to lose her chance at the lead the way Joseph has.

It’s just the lead. Just for this one show. He’s lost that before, though not for years. This is survivable. This isn’t the end of everything.

His thumb hovers over Indrid’s number; he knows he keep odd hours, stays up late. Knows from their texts that Barclay is a light sleeper, that if he calls someone will hear the phone, will pick up, might even come. Though he’s not sure he can handle the thought of saying he has to call a hook-up for help because his career—the one that isn’t over, it isn’t—means he can’t date.

“Mr. Stern?”

He glances back at the doctor and murmurs, “Let me call my boyfriend. I think he should be able to come get me when it’s over.”

He’s released a little after midnight, and Indrid is waiting for him when he comes out of anesthetic, just like he said he’d be. Dimly, Joseph thinks he hears someone tell Indrid that his boyfriend is ready to go home.

“How are you feeling, pet?” Indrid murmurs as he helps him to the car.

“Bad.” He mumbles. Then he notices the figure standing anxiously outside the car, “Barclay?”

“Hey.” The cook is bundled in a navy sweatshirt in stark contrast to the pink and yellow pile of wool draped around Indrid. He opens the back door of a green CR-V, “we were worried Indrid might not be able to get you into the car or, like, up the stairs safely on this own, since we weren’t sure how out of if or laid up you were gonna be. Plus, uh” he buckles Joseph’s seat belt for him, “I was worried about you, too.”

“You’re sweet, big guy.” He’s vaguely aware that isn’t the kind of thing you call a guy you’ve been casually texting because you’re too busy with a career that now might be over to have a serious relationship with anyone, including his boyfriend.

He shivers; fuck, he’s still in his practice gear.

“Here” Barclay unzips his sweatshirt, helping Joseph into it, “Let’s get you bundled up and get you home.”

The city lights stream past as they weave through the edges of downtown. The Codeine the nurse gave him to tide him over until the pharmacy is doing its job, meaning he’s halfway to sleep after only a few minutes. Indrid and Barclay are talking quietly, snatches of conversation drifting back to him as he wishes they were taking him back to their home, not his.

“What’d they say it was?”

“Achilles tendon. I’ll admit my knowledge of that body part stops with being made to read the Illiad in high school. Oh. Oh dear.”

Joseph manages to open an eye long enough to see Indrid looking at this phone.

“That serious?” Barclay whispers.

“So it seems. All the same, if there is anyone who can bounce back from it…”

Silver hair catches the stoplights as Indrid glances over his shoulder. Joseph quickly closes his eyes.

“One thing at a time, little moth. Let’s just get him comfortable so he can recover.”

“Yesyes, you are right. I am getting ahead of things again.”

Joseph slips into sleep soon after, groaning tiredly when the car stops and Barclay gently nudges his shoulder.

“Gotta get up the stairs.” A shy smile, “I’d just scoop you up but I don’t wanna accidentally bang your foot into anything.”

He nods tiredly, internally cursing the narrow staircase and contenting himself with Barclays arm around his waist and his own arm draped over broad shoulders for support.

Indrid keeps him company in the bedroom as Barclay moves through the apartment, taping care sheets up on the cabinets and looking down at the checklist the hospital gave them for things to do to help Joseph be as comfortable as possible.

“Are you certain you do not want one of us to stay?” Indrid is examining his bookshelf, posture calm but fingers drumming on his thighs.

“Yes.”

“It would not be any trouble, if I have to I can move some appointments later in the day tomorrow-“

“I’ll be okay. I’m okay.” He feels tears pricking his eyes at the lie. He doesn’t want them to go. He wants Barclay to hold him and tell him it’ll all be okay, Indrid to stroke his hair and tell him this doesn’t change anything, and he wants it to be true.

He can’t let them stay. What right does he have to mess up their week?

“Very well.” Indrid reaches up and takes down a soft, plush Bigfoot from the shelf and sets it on the bed, “we shall leave you under the watchful eye of the sasquatch.”

How did he know that on nights when Joseph cannot stay calm he takes that toy---a gift from his niece—down and crushes it to his chest? Joseph can’t remember if he told him. Maybe he did? He’d been so distracted by the thought of kissing on the doorstep that he can’t recall what he said during their last date.

“I think I got everything set up. There’s a bunch of ready to heat meals in the fridge; I kinda guessed at what to make based on what you told me you liked to eat.” Barclay hovers in the doorway.

If Joseph acknowledges what Barclay just said, he’s going to start sobbing. Instead, he fumbles with the zipper, “Here, you should-“

“Nah, you keep it.” Barclay bends down, zipping it back up and smoothing Joseph’s hair, “looks better on you anyway.

His fingers stay in Joseph’s hair as Indrid bends to kiss him.

“If you need anything, pet, anything at all, do not hesitate to call.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise?” Barclay cups his cheek, although his mouth stays aggravatingly out of kissing range.

He nods, head feelings as heavy as his heart, “I promise.”

“I guess he’s technically not hesitating but…” Barclay looks down at his IPA, “he hasn’t let either of us come over.”

“It’s only been ten days right? He might still be pretty out of it. Not feel up to hostin’, even if it’s you two just hangin’ around.” Duck sets his lager bottle down; Barclay got a bespoke selection from the craft brewery in town as an added thank-you for his consulting on their menu.

“If you were laid up, would you not let your boyfriend come over?”

“Nah. But I ain’t as, uh, image conscious as Joe is.” Duck smiles, remembering Indrid’s wild, enthusiastic hand gestures as he told him Joseph had made things official.

“Here” Indrid wanders into the room with his tablet at face level, “I will leave you in Barclay and Duck’s company while I sort this out.”

“Cushing made a break for it again?” Barclay takes the offered device.

“I saw him slip the cage from over Indrid’s shoulder.” Joe is sitting up on his couch; he must have this phone balanced somewhere. The room around him is immaculate, but Duck’s more interested in the way his chest looks in that loose, light blue t-shirt.  He bets he could make him soak through it, show him there’s all kinds of ways to break a sweat without working out.

He and Barclay listen as Joe tells them about the fact he finally got a chance to catch up on the Agent X TV show (with the occasional “get down from there” echoing from the other room). Duck tells him about his weekly dinner with Juno and her family, and Barclay shows him the obscure cookbook he found while Indrid was busy clothes hunting at Goodwill

“It’s considered a seminal work in classic cooking. Problem is, I don’t speak French.”

“I could translate the recipes for you.”

“That’d be so fucking cool-“

“Hold up, ‘Drid said you spoke Italian, not French.”

Joe’s tired smile turns proud, “French, Italian, Spanish, some German, and Korean. That last one was from family, not work, but I suspect growing up bilingual actually made it easier to learn down the line for work.”

Duck smirks, “This the time we tell him you stayed with a shitty boyfriend because any time you’d fight he’d read you love poems in French?”

Barclay winces with a laugh, “Aw man, don’t remind me.” He leans in as if he’s whispering to Joe, “worst part is, turns out they were like, kids poems. Not even real love poems. He memorized them in, like, French one and I fucking fell for it.”

Joe laughs, and his expression is almost suave as he says, “We’ll start with recipes. If you like how that goes, maybe I can move on to reading you poems.”

A clatter from the hallway makes all three of them crane to see what’s happening.

“I’m alright!” Indrid calls, “the little beast simply knocked some supplies off my desk! Also if you are telling him about the cookbook tell him I want you to make a dessert out of it. I shall learn to appreciate fine dining, some day.”

“Baby, you know I’ll make you all the Kraft mac and cheese you want.” Barclay passes the tablet to Duck as Indrid strides into the living room, Cushing held firmly in his hands as he sits between them.

“I know, but I also know you would enjoy someone who can go to fancy places and understand what is interesting about them.” Indrid’s eyes flick to the screen, lips curving upward, “then again, perhaps that does not need to be my purview at all. Tell me, pet, are you a gourmet?”

“I’m honestly not sure. My diet has been dictated by my work needs for so long.” He perks up, “but until I’m cleared to start training, my doctor did say I should focus more on staying fed than on keeping to my old diet. I wonder if that Chinese place on the corner still delivers…”

Barclay is already on his feet, “They do, hang on, lemme get the menu.”

“Can you check for me if they still have that dish that’s duck in a beer and Szechuan chili sauce?”

“Yep, they do. That all you want?”

“Barclay, you don’t have to buy me dinner from afar-“

“Let him be nice to you, Slick.” Duck doesn’t mean to drop into what Indrid calls his “casual” dom voice, but Joe immediately stops protesting.

“Thank you, big guy. Do they still have those sticky chicken wings? I forget the name.”

“Nah, they dropped that from the menu. But I could make you some! Uh, if you want, some time.” Barclay quickly focuses on typing the number into his phone.

“I’d like that.” Joe looks away from the screen a moment.

Duck makes the mental note lock all three of them in a closet until they admit they want to be a fucking throuple or whatever it’s called nowadays.

“Trust me, even if they ain’t the ones you’re thinkin’ of, he makes mean wings. Thought the Hornets were gonna inhale ‘em, bones and all, that one time you made ‘em for the block party. But” Duck fixes his gaze on the screen and waits for Joe to look at him, “the only way you’re getting ‘em is if ‘Drid brings ‘em to you.”

He watches blue eyes weigh a desire for control, or for whatever it is that has him keeping the others at arms length, war with wanting to do as he’s told.

A teasing smile, “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Newton.”

“Go for Duck.” He tries to remove his boots with his phone to his ear while Taco winds around his ankles, yowling for dinner.

“Hello sweet one, I have a favor to ask.” Indrid sounds harried, “I left my flash design book at Joseph’s yesterday , and a client is coming in for one today at 7. I’m booked up until then or I’d go, and Barclay is covering closing-“

“I’m on it, sugar. Text me his address?”

“Of course. Thank you, my ursine love.”

Duck snickers, “Any time.”

As he takes his short-cut to Joe’s chunk of town, he wonders if he could coax the guy into dinner once he’s dropped the sketchbook off with Indrid. Nothing fancy, maybe just some delivery pizza between friends.

The dancer has been a little more willing to let the others visit, and in the month since his injury Indrid’s gone over five times, Barclay three, and as far as Duck can tell they talk on the phone almost every night.

Hell, Joe is still regularly texting him with brain teasers or corny jokes. Duck thought it might just be boredom from being laid up, but the guy does have the entire internet to entertain him and still chooses to send Duck interesting nature facts he’s learning from his library books.

But he’s seen his share of skittish creatures over the years, and something in Joseph reminds him of those. Like it’s afraid to come too close, or certain something is waiting in the trees or the clouds to drop onto it and destroy it. 

Were Joe a deer, he’d leave him be. But an injured, lonely man is a different beast.

He reaches the apartment, climbs the stairs and knocks.

“It’s unlocked!” Joe’s voice is muffled.

When Duck comes inside, he sees why. The man is face down on the carpet, defeat in every line of his body.

“You okay there?”

“Peachy.” Joe turns and rests a cheek on the grey pile, “Indrid’s book is on the table.”

“Thanks.” Duck moves to stand next to him, “uh, how long you been down there?”

“What time is it?”

“5:30 or so.”

“Then you don’t want to know.”

“Uh huh.” Duck kneels and begins helping him sit up, “whelp, since any amount is too damn long, seems to me you need a hand.”

“I don’t need a hand, I need a” a hiss of breath as Joe sits onto the couch, “I need a fucking miracle.”

Duck sits next to him, watches his hands shake as he tries to card his hair back into order.

“I had my one month follow-up. I’m progressing well, so they gave me some more physical therapy exercises to do and I…well, I fell during one of them. I fell during one of the simplest exercises you can do. So I didn’t exactly feel like getting up.” He stares, dejected, at the spot where he just was, “They…they said it was too soon to call it. Whether or not I’ll be able to dance again, I mean. I knew it was a possibility, it’s why I was so careful not to injure myself. And they keep saying we can’t know for sure yet, that people have been hurt worse and were able to dance again. Everyone keeps saying that; Indrid and Barclay included. How it’ll be okay. How I’m tough, how I took care of myself and that means this isn’t career ending and, I, I don’t believe them.”

A ragged inhale, Joe hurriedly wiping his eye and keeping his back straight like a man at attention, it all makes Duck want to pull him into a hug. Instead, he sets a hand on his thigh and squeezes, gently.

“I know my body, Duck. And I know there are some things there’s no coming back from, not in the way I want to. Will I dance again? Sure, maybe well enough to teach some pre-school ballet class.” His arms cross, fingers digging into each bicep, “What if nothing I do is enough and this is it? Everything I worked for, all those years and hours and endless effort just lead to here. One bad slip and that’s it, Joseph Stern exits the stage with no applause.”

“Joe-“

“I’m sorry” he angles his body away from Duck, “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s not something you can solve. I just…maybe it’s because you haven’t built me up the way Indrid and Barclay have yet.”

“That why you’re not letting ‘em get too close?”

A small nod.

Duck thinks a moment, then leans into the cushions, resting his left arm on the back of the couch, “Don’t know if ‘Drid ever told you this, but I used to box. Had a knack for it, was good enough I was trainin’ to go pro. I was in a match and to this day I could not tell you what happened except that one second I was in the fight, the next I moved and my goddamn ACL gave out.”

Joe is looking at him with painful sympathy.

“Did my PT like a good boy, everyone I knew cheerin me on any time I talked to ‘em about how I’d be back in the ring in now time. Fuckin’ thing never healed right.”

“I’m so sorry-“

He shakes his head, “Don’t be, slick. Recoverin’ gave me time to think about whether I wanted to keep goin in the first place, and I realized I wanted other things from life. Not that it didn’t fuckin hurt to feel like all the blood, sweat, and tears of the last few years were for nothin’. But plenty of things hurt; part of life is makin’ sure we ain’t lettin’ ourselves hurt more than we need to because we think we deserve it.”

Joe is facing him now, face calm but eyes teary, “Can I-“

Duck opens his arms, “Knock yourself out.”

The dancer cuddles up against him, face hidden in his neck, “Thank you. For telling me all that. It’s nice to talk to someone who understands.”

“Talk with you about it any time. Can do things other than talk, too.” He winks when Joe looks up at him.

“I think I have to be more recovered for that, at least from what Indrid tells me about his time with you.”

He chuckles, “Funny thing is, ‘Drid ain’t all that into the rough stuff. I tell him he’s in trouble, he’s getting a few smacks on the ass and then an hours’ worth of me telling him how good and sweet and obedient he is and how I can’t stay mad at him.”

“I think I’d need more than a few.” Joe murmurs.

“We can talk about it down the line.” Duck rubs his shoulder through his thin shirt, “I think you oughta tell ‘Drid and Barclay what you told me; they’re cheering you on because they care about you, not because they think you’re fuckin invincible. They wanna be there for you, however that looks.”

Joe nods, but his fist closes in the front of Duck’s jacket, like he’s afraid of the very thought.

“I gotta run this over to ‘Drid’s shop. But after that, howsabout I come back here and we order dinner. I used to work at the pizza place four blocks over, and they still give me a discount.”

“You must have been a good employee.”

“I was a stoner who took too many breaks, but I also chased off the now-managers’ ex when he came in lookin to start trouble.” Duck ruffles his hair, realizing too late that a fastidious fella might now appreciate that. But the tension in Joe’s shoulders lessens at the gesture.

A smile like fireflies on an august night, “I’d love to get pizza with you.”

Duck grins, “Hell yeah.”

Apollo strolls into the lobby; the usual entrance to the rehearsal rooms is blocked off, thanks to a busted pipe at the wine bar next door. 

“…I think one from every year might be best? It could showcase both his work and the company’s evolution.” Vincent says this to the front of house manager, the two of them studying a blank patch of wall along with one of the producers. Right, they decided the new lobby display will be costumes from Vincent's fathers time working for them.

Vincent notices him, but before Apollo can preen under his gaze he turns away. Disappointed.

Being gutted on a rusty nail would hurt him less.

That. That is why it’s best that he sticks to throwing wine and insults at the older man. He will never, ever allow another person to have that kind of power over his feelings. He swore it.

Still, as the cluster of people follow him down the hallways towards the rehearsal space, he hopes Vincent is at least enjoying the view.

“Let me slip into my office, I have those documents in my filing cabinet” a laugh from the house manager, “old fashioned, I know.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Vincent nods, notices that Apollo has stopped as well, “Hello, Apollo.”

“Mr. Capra.”

“I wanted to congratulate you on landing the principal role in The Creature.”

“I would have landed it sooner if Sterns injury hadn’t caused everyone to lose their heads.”

“You know the creative team had to re-shuffle the planned casting, and that takes time.” The producer chides. Apollo ignores him.

“Is Joseph alright? I sent some get-well flowers. And an Uber Eats card, goodness knows I’d want some meal help if I was stuck in bed.”

Apollo bites back a growl at the thought of Jospeh, of all people, getting presents from Vincent.

“I have no idea. Now if you will excuse me, I have a part to perfect.”

Vincent sighs as Apollo disappears into the practice room. It was foolish to hope for an apology, but he always finds himself a little too inclined to give a second chance where Apollo is concerned.

Marge, the house manager, returns with the list of what costumes are still in storage, and they go through it to make sure all the ones they want to display are either already at the theater or in the archive room at his mothers house.

Just as he’s saying his goodbyes, there’s a thud from the practice room, followed by the unmistakable, frankly terrifying sound of Apollo Cold cursing in pain.

Chapter Text

Stern is blinded by stage lights for a moment before he remembers where he is. His costume says it all: Jonathan Harker. He’s in the middle of a Saturday night performance of Dracula. This blocking is entirely new. He should be upstage right when the chimes start to mimic a church’s bells; Instead, he is downstage center, an eerie but romantic blue spotlight bathing him in a dusty glow.

He senses movement in the corner of his left eye, but when he turns to look, nothing is there. Then the nothing moves again on his right and he doesn’t turn fast enough to catch it. When he senses the presence one more time on his left, he pirouettes as fast as he can to catch it.

Pale, spindly hands latch onto Stern’s biceps, stopping him dead in his perfect spin after a single rotation. Long, black nails dig into the muscle of his arm as ruby brown eyes look hungrily into his own. His hair is slicked back and his canines were pointed like daggers, but Stern would know Indrid’s face anywhere.

“My pet, you look divine this evening.” The thinner man purrs, leaning in close to lick at Stern’s exposed neck.

Joseph’s breath catches in his throat, but he dares not back away. He’s under his lover’s thrall. Nothing could make him move.

“Awww, do you grow shy with an audience?” his Dracula asks, taking Joseph by the waist and slowly spinning him around. The movement is suave and slow, yet everything in the background blurred like a smeared painting. “Do not worry, love, there is only you and I.” the vampire promises, drawing a single nail down his prey’s cheek. “I shall devour you with great pleasure, do you know why?”

The dancer shakes his head, though it swims with lust and the need to please. All he wants is for Indrid to fulfill his desires with his own body.

The vampire leans up the tiniest bit, so Stern can feel strangely cold breath in his ear. His skin prickles with goosebumps as he waits for Indrid to whisper sweet praise into his ear. He closes his eyes to savor the sensation.

“It is because you are … weak.” A new voice whispers.

Stern’s eyes fly open, and he sees golden hair now instead of silver. Apollo looks Stern in the eyes, his irises glowing with malice. His rival grins. Stern sees now that every one of Apollo’s teeth are razor sharp.

“Because you are a weak husk with nothing to offer. You never had anything to offer, really. So now, you will finally be useful: A simple step on my ascent to greatness.”

Joseph tries to pull away, to run, but Apollo’s grip is monstrously tight now. Apollo’s gorgeous face cracks open wider than a human’s should be able to as he leans in to feast on Stern’s blood.

Then the backstage door crashes open, warm light spilling onto the darkened stage. A tall, dark haired man wearing a patchwork robe steps in, face buried in what looks like a TV guide. “Franky, when does ‘The Golden Bachelor’ start again? I don’t want to miss it.” The figure speaks in a thick Transylvania accent. He looks up at the ballet dancers, who had both frozen in confusion. “… what are you weirdos doing in my castle?”

Joseph wakes with a start. Unthinkingly, he moves to stand up on his still healing leg. The (ex) dancer hisses, the pain drawing him into reality faster than time alone would have. He carefully sits back down, realizing what had happened. He’d been watching a Universal Monster Movie Marathon while polishing off a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream by himself. He must have dozed off on the couch.

Stern groans as he sits back, rubbing his eyes. “I can’t believe mom was right about ice cream before bed…”

His phone chirps for an incoming call, the screen showing that it's Indrid. He answers it with time to spare. “Indrid? Is everything alright?”

“Joseph, you will not believe what just happened!”

Apollo is miserable.

Being miserable is a pathetic emotion, so he decides he is furious.

When he sprained his leg in the middle of practice, the Principal Dancer turned into a feral beast. He didn’t want anyone to touch him, snarled at his co-stars that he was fine, that nothing was wrong. He would stretch it out and he would be fine to continue rehearsal. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t like Joseph. He wouldn’t choke at the last moment like a loser.

Melody had called for an ambulance, out of what she insisted was an abundance of caution. Apollo knows the truth: Melody is Stern’s ally, not Apollo’s. She was trying to sabotage him now that he’d rightfully earned Joseph’s role. He’d have to figure out how she did that later.

The doctor told Apollo it was only a minor injury, but that the dancer would have to be careful or he’d make it worse. He was cleared with a crutch to use and some pain killers, along with instructions on how to ease his body back into his work. It was ridiculous.

The blonde man calls up his twin. “Indrid, I’m in the hospital. Come take me home.” He demands.

“… are you dying?” Indrid asks, sounding unusually cold.

“Unfortunately for you, no. Everyone overreacted to a twinge I had in my leg, but I need to go home now. Come get me.”

“No.”

 “… what do you mean ‘No’?”

“I’m not coming to get you, Apollo. You can find your own way home.”

“They won’t let me go without- What are you talking about!?” he snaps.

“Joseph told me what happened.” His twin answers. “I knew you were ambitious and cold. I even knew you were cruel at times. But abandoning Joseph? That was disgraceful, even for you, Apollo. What if Joseph had landed wrong and gotten a concussion? Broken a bone?”

“… well none of that happened, so I don’t know why you’re so upset. I was more than generous enough to get that walking corpse his phone.”

“If you say anything like that about Joseph again, I will hang up and block your number.” Indrid sounds deadly serious.

“You are overreacting-“

“You turned off the lights, for God’s sake, Apollo!” Indrid snapa “You left him alone to suffer from a life altering injury! If Joseph told anyone else how you reacted, I can only imagine they would kick you out of the company… and you would deserve it.”

Apollo is silent. Indrid will shout and brood about this whole thing, then he’ll come to Apollo’s aid anyways. That’s how these things go.

“So when are you coming to get me?”

“I’m not.” Indrid says calmer but no less angry. “You’re on your own, Apollo.”

“You… Fine!” Apollo shouts. He pushes away the possibility of feeling abandoned by Indrid and decides on pure rage instead. “I don’t need you! I don’t need anyone else! You and that pathetic has-been can rot together!” And Apollo, always needing the last word and deed, hangs up on Indrid.

Too prideful to ring Kaleigh after such a humiliating call, Apollo orders an Uber to take him home. The backseat has too many crumbs in it and the sharp smell of car air freshener puts him in an even fouler mood. He gives the driver one star.

Now comes a new obstacle: He's bored.

He's laid up on the couch and nothing sounds appealing. There's nothing adorning the walls to muffle the sounds of Apollo simply existing in his barren apartment. He hadn't needed anything, was rarely there: he was either in the studios for rehearsals, performing, hanging out with Kaleigh, or drinking at the many bars in Kepler.

Sitting on the couch in the warm light of late afternoon, his apartment seems to be silently screaming at him what he already knew: No one is going to come. Apollo snarls at himself, wondering why he cares at all. He is a successful Principal Dancer, his career is set. He doesn't need anyone or anything else… except maybe a nice salad.

Apollo remembers that he hasn't had anything since his morning protein shake. He stews in his hunger for a moment before he sits up with a realization. He pulls out his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he reaches Vincent’s number. He’d eavesdropped on Mr. Capra once at a charity event, when he gave it to someone else. The donor had only shared it for the purpose of exchanging ideas for the upcoming promotional materials, but it still left Apollo fuming for weeks afterwards. Now is the perfect time to use this secret weapon.

Vincent doesn't let the phone ring for long.

Of course he picks up unknown numbers Apollo thinks, trying not to be pleased that he’d predicted Vincent’s behavior so well.

“This is Vincent Capra.”

God, even his professional tone over the phone was doing him in. “Where’s my Uber Eats gift card, Vincent?”

There's a beat of silence. “… Apollo?”

“The one and only.”

“How are you doing?” Vincent asks, genuine concern in his tone.

This throws Apollo off balance. “I… I’m obviously fine.” He huffs. “Everyone made such a fuss over nothing.”

“It sounded quite painful from the other room.”

Apollo’s face burns with humiliation at the thought of Vincent hearing his pained screams. “I was irritated at everyone else. It’s just a sprain, it’ll heal.”

“Of course. It’s easy to recover from such things when you’re young.”

“Exactly… but I still went to the ER. So, I expect the same treatment that Stern got when he was injured. That’s only fair.” Apollo insists, appealing to Vincent’s usually irritating nobility.

There's another beat of silence. “… I suppose you’re right.” The older man concedes.

“Of course I am.”

“If you give me your address, I can send the flowers and a card.”                                                                                                           

Apollo is so excited by the prospect of Vincent having his home address that he rattles it off without considering that he could try and con Vincent into coming over himself.

“Thank you, Apollo. I’ll have those over to you by the end of the day. I hope you recover quickly.”

“Wait!” Apollo says suddenly. He senses that Vincent was about to end the call, leaving him alone in his apartment once more. “… what were you doing? Before I called you?”

“What was I doing?” Vincent reiterates. “Well, I was about to watch a movie.”

“What movie?”

“West Side Story.”

“Why?”

Vincent chuckles. “I watched it a lot in my younger years. It’s a comfort for me, despite the ending.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

“You haven’t?”

“… no…”

“Do you have Netflix?”

“No.” Apollo doesn't see the point in streaming services. He has a real life to live, after all.

“… let me give you my log in.”

Apollo’s heart was in his throat. He couldn’t believe what was happening.

A few minutes later, he's streaming the movie on his tablet. Apollo feels so strangely giddy at the thought of Vincent sharing something with him, even if it was just a Netflix password. It takes all his skills not to show how much this meant to him. He doesn't want to come across as pathetic and desperate for attention.

“Well… I’m already here.” Apollo says haughtily. “We might as well watch it together.” He suggests, oh so casually. He remembers Indrid doing something like this with Barclay when they were teenagers. He thought it was stupid when he was that age. Now it holds a certain appeal.

“I suppose we could.” Vincent says, and Apollo melts at the smile in the donor’s voice.

They hit play at the same time and begin to watch the overture. There's silence for a few moments before Vincent speaks softly.

“Do you mind talking during a movie?”

Apollo absolutely despises when Indrid couldn’t shut up on the rare occasion they watch something together. But that was because Indrid never has anything interesting to say about the movie. Vincent, on the other hand…

“Not at all.” Apollo says softly in return.

Vincent quietly offers little trivia tidbits as they watch the film together. With the older man’s commentary whispered in Apollo’s ear, the blonde almost feels like Vincent is in the room with him. Apollo completely forgets about that salad he was craving.

When the movie ends, Vincent bids Apollo good night and wishes him luck with his injury (Apollo could swear that he hears Vincent breathing the way people do when they were choked up). He's disappointed to be lonely again, until the carrier arrives at his front door. They deliver an Uber Eats gift card and a bouquet of flowers, filled with peony, calendula and orange roses. As Apollo waits for his late lunch/early dinner to arrive, he simply stares at the bouquet and all of its beautiful bright colors and wonders if Vincent picked them out specifically for him.

Barclay picks up his ringing cell phone as he slipped on his crocs. “Hey Joseph.”

“Hello Barclay, I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all. I was actually about to leave for your place.” he adjusts an insulated grocery bag on his arm.

“About that, one of my coworkers stopped by for a surprise visit.”

“Oh really? That’s super sweet of them. Did you want me to come by later then?”

“No no, not at all. I just didn’t want you to think I’d forgotten about our charcuterie date and invited someone else over.”

“I see. Don’t worry, Joseph, I’m not the jealous type. I’d love a chance to meet one of your friends.”

“Well, I’m sure you two will get along great. She loves meeting new people too.”

Barclay hears someone else speaking in the background. It's likely Joseph’s friend, but she wasn’t speaking in English.

“Yes, it is Barclay.” Joseph answers. The cook hears a delighted giggle over the phone before Stern sighs. “I have to go, but I can’t wait to see you.”

Barclay smiles. “You too.”

20 minutes later, the cook ascends the stairs to Joseph’s apartment. He's so excited that he nearly takes the steps two at a time. When he approaches the door, he hears Joseph and his guest chatting animatedly inside in either speaking Italian or Portuguese, the chef can't quite tell. He knocks on the door, causing only the briefest pause in the conversation. The bearded man can then hear the conversation continuing as someone approaches the door. When the door finally opens, a very petite red head stands before Barclay. Her wavy hair is in one long braid and she's dressed for a ballet rehearsal, all of her clothes in soft shades of blue and pink.

The red head’s eyes widen as she looked up at him. While he can't understand what she's saying, Barclay can guess by the slight awe in her voice. She looks back into the apartment to speak to Joseph, a grin spreading on her face.

Joseph’s cheeks turn a dusty pink. “Melody! That’s not-!”

“You must be Barclay.” The woman says, turning back to the taller man and giving a half curtsey. “I am Melody, I dance with Joseph. Please forgive me, I should have left some time ago. I’d hate to ruin a date for a friend.”

Barclay smiles and shakes his head. “Hey, you’re totally fine, you don’t have to rush off. Thanks for keeping him company.”

“It was my pleasure.” Melody says as he steps inside. She closes the door behind him and looks between the two men. “Joseph was just telling me about your date. I am utterly jealous.”

Joseph smiles. “Barclay is very generous with his talents.”

The taller man flushes a bit. “I don’t know about that. I love a good excuse to eat fancy cheese and meat.”

Melody sighs. “You and Joseph are very similar, aren’t you? So unable to take a compliment.”

Barclay and Joseph locked eyes with one another and silently agreed: She wasn’t wrong.

The ballerina checks her rose gold wristwatch and gasped. “Accidenti, I am running late.” She picked up a blue, leather duffel bag sitting by the front door. “It was so nice to meet you, Barclay. Ciao, Joseph! Have fun with your mostriciattola.” She finishes with a wink before slipping out the apartment, leaving the pair alone.

Barclay looks at Joseph with interest. “What did she call me?”

Joseph groans, burying his burning face in his hands. “It means ‘little monster’. It’s in a friendly fashion, I promise.” He sighs before looking back up at Barclay, smiling sheepishly. “Thank you for coming over. This is really generous of you.”

“Hey, I love showing people the wonders of good cheese. Besides, I like the idea of treating you. It doesn’t seem like you get that often.”

“I… suppose that’s true.” Joseph says quietly.

Barclay carefully removes the charcuterie board he’d assembled from the bag, and he sees Stern’s eyes widening on the edge of his vision. He begins to remove the strategic plastic wrap from the gift he had so lovingly assembled.

“Indrid tells me that work kept you really busy.” Barclay said as he removes a bottle of sparkling apple juice from his bag.

 “Yes, being a Principal Dancer for a company requires a lot of commitment, both to the work and to yourself.”

“To yourself?” Barclay asks, not sure he entirely believed the sentiment. He quickly locates the glassware in Joseph’s kitchen and pours two drinks.

“There are expectations for how a dancer should look. That requires specific and consistent workouts, along with a strict diet.”

“Well, I’m about to blow that diet out of the water.” Barclay chuckles. He carefully balances the board in one hand and the two drinks in the other as he moves into the living room.

“I’m looking forward to it, actually.” Stern says with a smile. It's a small, soft smile Barclay has never seen before, and now he wants to see it at least once a day.

The cook places the board on the coffee table, along with the two drinks, before sitting next to Joseph.

“I feel like I should confess something to you.” Stern says. He's not looking at the food, or at Barclay.

“I mean, I already know you had a massive crush on me.” Barclay says grinning. “I don’t know what else you could confess to.”

“… those cookies you always gave me?” Stern’s voice comes out small and afraid. It made Barclay worry. “… I’ve never had one.”

Barclay’s heart sinks at that. “Oh… are you not a fan of sweets?”

“I love them, actually. To an… unhealthy degree.” His hands fidget with the blanket covering his legs. “When I said I had a strict diet, I mean it. I felt like if I slipped even once, it would end in disaster.”

Barclay considers this for a moment. “It gave you a sense of control, right?”

“Exactly. So… I’m sorry for passing off your kindness like that. If it is any help, they never went to waste. I always gave them to someone else.”

“That’s a relief.” The larger man says as he smiled once more.

“I didn’t think it would be right to keep that from you, if this became more serious.” Stern says, blushing at the possibility behind that statement.

“Well, that just means I need to make them all for you again.” Barclay winks at Stern and that makes the dancer blush harder.

Stern moved=s to sit up, but Barclay puts a hand out. “You’re not moving a muscle, babe.”

Stern clears his throat, clearly flustered. “Babe?”

“Is it okay if I call you that?” He didn’t want to make Joseph uncomfortable now.

“You could call me anything you want.” Joseph says, almost in a whisper.

The cook grins. “Good. Now, babe, sit back and let me treat you.”

Barclay hands Joseph his glass of juice before he prepares a classic first bite: Rosemary water cracker, brie and strawberry jam. He holds the morsel out for his date to enjoy. “Open wide.”

The leaner man swallows but obeys the gentle command. He parts his lips and takes the bite into his mouth. He moans as he chews, the sound making Barclay’s spine tingle.

“Barclay, that’s delicious. Did you make the cracker?” Stern asks in wonder.

Barclay prepares another bite for his date, “Yeah, I prefer making them a little more flavorful to compliment the cheese.”

Stern took another bite with gusto. The cook's aware of how hard he's staring at Stern’s tongue as it licks away a stray bit of peach marmalade. He doesn't dare stop though.

“When you finish healing, I’ll be sure to make a seven course dinner.”

Joseph blinks at the larger man. “Seven?”

“Seven.” Barclay grins, having a bite for himself before continuing to feed Joseph.

“That’s a French dinner, isn’t it?”

“So you know the language and the cooking?” The bearded man asked, offering Joseph a blue cheese and apple bite, dressed in honey and almonds.

Joseph savors it before he answered. “I picked up a bit of the culture as I learned the language. I’ve also worked with French dancers who were willing to share a lot with me.”

“Do you ever hang out with people outside of work?” He feels like he was bribing Joseph for answers, but he’d be lying if he said he hated the concept.

 “Not really. I’m working so much I don’t have friends outside of the industry.”

Barclay nods, “I get that. Restaurant culture is insular: You work long hours, go through a lot of stress together, you’re bound to get close.” He explains as he refills Stern’s now empty glass.

Joseph thanks him and takes a sip of his new drink before continuing. “Sounds pretty similar. How did you get out of it?”

Barclay answers after a heavenly bite of dried apricot, walnut and gouda. “I had to realize that my friends were making me happier than work was. Once I figured that out, it was easier for me to find work that prioritized my personal life. Now I’ve got the Lodge taking care of me.”

“I’m glad you found somewhere that makes you happy.” Stern says as he took a sip of his juice. His expression is harder than Barclay expected it to be.

“… was that not the ballet company for you?” the chef asks softly.

“… I don’t know anymore.” Joseph sighs,“There are people I really like there. I love dancing, it gave me such purpose and joy when the whole production would come together into something beautiful…” the man trails off.

Barclay doesn't want to cause his date any pain at this moment, so changing the subject makes the most sense. “Well, you have time to think about the future later. For now.” He holds out a piece of honeycomb, golden syrup dripping onto his fingers. “I want you to try this.”

“Oh goodness.” Stern chuckles. He moves quickly to take the tender treat into his mouth. To get it all into his mouth in one bite, his lips closes around Barclay’s thumb.

Barclay’s breath hitches as he feels Joseph’s lips on his skin, so warm and soft. A pleasant jolt goes through his body when he feels the man’s warm tongue lap at the pad of his calloused thumb.

As Joseph pulls away, his eyes are a bit glassy. When he looks upon Barclay’s likely stunned expression, his whole face goes red, the fog gone from his eyes. “I-I… I’m sorry, that was too far, wasn’t it?” he babbles. “I don’t know what got into me, it was just so good, and I-“

Barclay decides to cut him off by cupping Joseph’s chin in his still extended hand. The two look into each other’s eyes and Barclay knows that he’s never see such blue eyes anywhere else. He slowly drags his thumb across Joseph’s bottom lip, pushing the digit back into his mouth.

Stern’s eyes go half-lidded as he sucks at it, his teeth lightly digging into the skin of the larger man’s hand. Barclay’s heart is thundering in his chest. He's not sure of where this is going, but he's happy to be going there.

Barclay watches as Joseph pulls away, kissing the cook’s rough palm as he went. The look that Stern is giving him makes his stomach flip. He's not sure if it was Stern’s steely gaze, the set of his brow, or the smile that's playing on his lips, but Barclay knows one thing in this moment: The tables are turning.

“You know, I’ve had so many fantasies about these hands.” Joseph says softly, carefully taking Barclay’s hand in both of his own. “So skilled, so strong, but also so… gentle.” He says this as he kissed each of Barclay’s fingertips.

The larger man swallows, entranced by Joseph’s tone. He can't hold back anymore, he has to ask.

“Joseph?” he whispers.

“Yes, Barclay?”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I would like it very much if you did.” Stern says with a bright smile.

That smile does Barclay in as he moves to the dancer, cupping the dark haired man’s face in both of his hands. He kisses Joseph with all of the gentle love he holds in his heart for the dancer. He can smell his mint shampoo, taste a whisper of honey on his lips. It's heavenly.

Barclay eventually pulls away, panting from how much his heart is racing.

Joseph reaches up and runs his fingers through Barclay’s beard, sighing contentedly. “I have been waiting so long to do that.”

“Is there… anything else you’ve been waiting to do?”

“Yes… but I’m not sure how we would do that with my injury. You are so strong, I’m worry you’d break me.” Joseph teases

Barclay feels a heat burning below his skin, needing some kind of release. He'll be patient for Joseph, though. He’d earned that much. “I-I can be gentle, baby. I promise, I’ll make it so good for you.” He knows he's begging, but the delicious shame building in him is too delightful not to indulge.

“Really?” Joseph asks, raising a brow. “If I were to, let’s say… have you fuck me,” Joseph says the words like they aren't a great gift to Barclay. “How would you do it? So you wouldn’t hurt me?”

Barclay clears his throat, willing his voice to have an even timbre to it. It's a failed attempt.

“I-I could carry you to your bed. I’d make sure the pillows there supported you. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger, I’d do all the work.”

“And that would still be pleasurable for you? Taking such precautions wouldn’t… ruin the mood?” Stern asks and the game slides away for a moment. He looks away from Barclay, keeping his tone clipped, radiating insecurity.

Barclay won't let him worry. He takes Stern’s face in his hands, tilting it so that they're making eye contact once more. “Babe, taking care of you is such a turn on for me, it’s almost offensive.” He says with a light tone.

Stern smiles at that, and Barclay knows he’d pulled Joseph away from a darker place. “Well then, Mr. Cobb… I believe you have convinced me.” He says in a haughty tone that nearly made Barclay laugh.

“Then allow me.” Barclay said.

Joseph’s hands wrap around Barclay’s neck as the larger man bridal carries him to the bedroom. Barclay can feel the dancer playing with his short ponytail and he puts a new small fantasy on his list: Stern playing with his hair for however long he wanted.

Stern’s room is neat as a pin, just as Barclay imagined it would be. The bed is even made, and Barclay isn't sure how he was doing that on his own. The chef gently sits Stern on the edge of the bed and begins to prepare. He has a lot of experience manipulating pillows in bed (Indrid is a pillow fiend), so in no time, Barclay is able to create a nest of sorts for Stern.

Joseph settles into the pile of pillows, his back reclined, his hips elevated, and his healing leg propped up and out of the way. “Yes… I think you’ve made this quite comfortable.” He says with a smile that sends Barclay’s heart into double time. “I’ll need some help undressing.”

The bearded man carefully removes Stern’s undershirt and pajama pants, folding each article and setting it off to the side. It's the only way that Barclay can focus his energy, instead of pouncing onto Stern at once. Each inch of skin revealed makes Barclay burn hotter with need. He commends himself silently on his patience as he slowly removes Stern’s boxer briefs, kissing down his legs as Barclay went. The cook feels a surge of primal pride when he notices how damp Stern’s underwear truly was.

“When did you get so wet for me, babe?” He tries to make the smile on his face portray submission instead of smugness.

“When you were feeding me.” Joseph admits, squirming a bit. “It was very… intimate.”

Barclay’s smile turns warm as he leans in and kisses the blushing man. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so flattered before.”

“That’s a lie. You date Indrid.” Joseph laughs

“Fair point.”

“Now it’s your turn.” Stern implores, tugging at Barclay’s flannel.

Barclay removes his clothes like they're on fire, making sure to pull out the condom he’d put in his pocket (just in case). He makes a mental note to slow down next time when he spots Joseph staring at him like a dessert buffet.

“Lord almighty…” Stern whispers as Barclay approaches. The leaner man spread his legs to accommodate; the gesture so inviting that it makes Barclay’s mouth water.

He slowly puts the condom on, his cock throbbing with even the barest bit of attention. “Don’t worry, I promise I’m going to be gentle.”

“I wish you didn’t have to be.” Joseph moans.

Barclay positions himself at Stern’s entrance with his cock in his hand. “I know. But this is incredible enough as it is.” He says. Joseph is looking just off to the side, blushing so much that it goes down to his collarbone.  “Are you ready?”

 “Please. I don’t know how much longer I can wait.”

Barclay nods and then he slowly begins to enter Stern. He pushes in, inch by inch, as slow as he can, and it's killing him in the best way possible. Joseph was so tight and warm, but better than the sensation of burying himself inside of Joseph are the noises he makes: his hitched breaths, his long moans, his soft, surprised keening. The larger man could hear small words come out of the slighter man, all mixtures of begging and Barclay’s name. He’d pay to have someone record Joseph’s voice as the man finally reached the hilt of his cock. It was music to the chef’s ears.

“I’ve got you, baby.” Barclay whispers in his ear. “I’ll take care of everything.” He says before slowly pulling out and pushing back in, Stern’s breathing going ragged underneath him. Barclay revels in fucking Joseph, how he tightens when Joseph hits the base of his dick, the way he grabs and claws at Barclay’s shoulders, the way Stern’s thighs tens and relax with each thrust and pull, like a call and response.

Once Barclay finds the angle that makes Stern’s babbling into the most helpless sounds, he reaches one hand down and begins to rub small circles on Joseph’s dick. The man under Barclay cries out, an octave higher than normal. “So hard and wet for me, babe. Please cum on my cock, I wanna feel how you tight you get when you cum.”

That throws Stern over the edge. Barclay feels Stern’s nails digging into his back, his own back bowing from the release, his cock being squeezed so hard that he can't take it anymore and cums.

When Barclay is back to his senses, he hears Stern in a breathless whisper, “Thank you…. Thank you so much… You don’t know how much that meant to me.” There's a hiccup at the end of his sentence.

The arousal fog in Barclay’s mind clears away as he strokes Stern’s cheek. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” The concern is a sinking stone in his chest.

Joseph shakes his head. “No no, you were perfect, big guy.” He says, kissing his hands once more. “I just… haven’t had that kind of sex in a while. Feeling… that’s taken care of. My heart isn’t used to it.” He sniffles, rubbing at his eyes with his palms. “And… things were alright for you too?”

“I would do that every day if you let me.” Barclay says with an earnest smile.

Stern chuckles a bit. “Well… I suppose that’s as ringing an endorsement as anything.”

Barclay kisses Joseph on his still flushed cheek before slowly pulling out, tossing the condom and holding the healing man in his arms, still careful with his injury. “Babe, I… I cannot explain to you how many fantasies I had about you when you were just a customer. Even if I usually saw you in workout gear, you always had this really confident air about you, you carried yourself with this… untapped energy. It fascinated me.”

Joseph looks like he's about to protest the praise, but Barclay places a single finger on his lips. “But now that I know you, really know you, I can see so much more. I can see you’re a giant nerd, you’re determined and thoughtful. I could talk to you for hours, and on top of all that, you really do have the sexiest body I’ve ever seen. You’re a dream come true, Joseph. Please believe that.”

Joseph’s eyes flit away again, looking unsure before looking back at Barclay again.

He smiles. Not all of it reaches his eyes, and that makes Barclay’s heart hurt.

“Alright. I will… do my best to believe that.”

Chapter Text

“Mr. Cold, have you been following my instructions?”

“Of course.” Apollo manages not to sneer at the pinch-faced doctor currently frowning at his computer screen. The man wears his age poorly. Unlike some people Apollo could think of…

“We’re not seeing the progress in recovery we should. Have you been limiting yourself to the stretches and exercises we cleared you for?”

“Yes.” He lies.

“It’s important that you do. As it stands now, you won’t be healed enough to dance at a performance level until December.”

“What?” He hisses, hopping to his feet. Reclaiming his role in The Creature isn’t feasible in that timeline. Unless, of course, he simply lies to the producers and director.

And maybe murders this doctor just so no one finds out the truth.

“I suggest sticking to my recommendations from here on all.” Is all the doctor says before bidding Apollo good day and leaving him alone in the buzzing room. As if he were no one at all.

“The nerve of that dull little man! Pretending he can tell me how to exercise when all the exercise he gets is clearly sitting on the couch watching a football game.” Apollo stabs his salad with such violence Vincent is glad lettuce can’t feel pain.

He sips his mimosa, “Were you pushing it? Your recovery, I mean.”

Amber eyes narrow, “And what if I was?”

“Then I’d say the doctor has a point.”

“I know what I am capable of. What I can withstand. I do not appreciate being underestimated.”

He sighs, “And you can withstand being perpetually sidelined because you won’t slow down enough to heal?”

There’s a look he’s coming to recognize as Apollo wanting to sulk but not giving into the impulse. Today is the first time he sees a true, petulant pout settle on his face.

“It is not…fair.” Apollo nudges a piece of pear along the white plate, “I am the best. But instead of being where I deserve, I am stuck down on the ground with everybody else.”

Were it anyone else, Vincent would point out the sheer amount of ego in those words. With Apollo, he knows there’s no point. The younger man is well aware of his own sense of superiority. And lately, when he says those sorts of things around Vincent, it’s with less and less force, as if he might finally understand that Vincent does not need someone to be the best to deem them worthy of his company.

“To quote on of perhaps the oldest cliches, life isn’t fair.” He sets a hand on Apollo’s wrist, “the break hasn’t been all bad, has it? I’ve rather enjoyed the chance to spend more time with you, selfish as that might be.”

Apollo glances at the hand as if it’ll bite him. Then he relaxes, runs a finger along Vincent’s pinky, “I have enjoyed it as well. It is nice to have someone to get brunch with, and to watch movies with.”

“And do your stretches in front of in hopes of some compliments on your physique?”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Apollo polishes off his white chocolate cappuccino, not quite hiding his playful smirk, “your apartment simply more spacious.”

They finish their meal and head back toward Apollo’s apartment; it’s not far, and Apollo is certain to keep his arm looped through Vincent’s in order to not lose his balance. As they walk, his other arm moves emphatically as he describes a new mounting of Don Quixote in New York. Until a few weeks ago, his movements stayed those of a dancer, elegant and calculated, even when they were alone.

Vincent wishes, not for the first time, that he could be certain this Apollo would not pivot back into the hissing, callous man he knows he can be. He would like nothing better than to keep him on his arm, wouldn’t mind at all if sometimes he had to bring him to heel like a vicious purebred on a diamond chain.

He wishes he could trust that there isn’t some machination at work behind that smile.

They reach the apartment building and he helps Apollo up the three flights to his place. The door opens and he glimpses the inside that’s still dying for some color as the dancer pauses on the threshold.

“Vincent?”

It’s the same posture he had at the party, and Vincent’s heart sinks. All this time, Apollo’s just been hoping they’d go to bed together, in spite of knowing Vincent’s misgivings on the matter.

Silly old goat, hoping for something else.

“I…I wanted to say that I am. Am” He inhales, looking like a man about to drop of a scaffold, “Sorry. For how I acted at the party. I should not have behaved that way and I am grateful that you…gave me another chance. To be around you.”

Vincent reaches out, plucking a stray leaf caught to Apollo’s feather-patterned scarf, “Apology accepted, little bird.”

Apollo smiles, a fluttery, genuine thing, and suddenly Vincent doesn’t feel like quite such a fool.

It has not always been easy for Indrid to read a room. He suspects he would be even worse at it had gauging his fathers’ moods not been integral to surviving his childhood. What he did not expect was to feel that same tingling unease of the storm, unseen but speeding forward all the same, sitting on the couch in Joseph’s apartment.

Barclay is on his phone, looking at dinner options to celebrate Joseph clearing his next stage of physical therapy, and the dancer is in the kitchen putting away dishes. Duck initially planned to join them, but had to cover an event at the visitor center. Its all perfectly mundane, and Indrid’s shoulders are creeping toward his ears.

“How about Italian? There’s a really amazing new place that opened downtown, I know the chef and he’s fucking magic with pasta.”

“That sounds nice.”

There. Joseph’s tone. It’s a little too polite.

Indrid stands and moves to the kitchen, catching Joseph as turns to hang up the dishtowel and looping his arms over his shoulders, “What’s wrong, pet?”

“Nothing.” Joseph folds the towel with a snap, then sighs, “Sorry, I’m trying to get better at not saying that automatically. I…the appointment didn’t go how I hoped.”

“Oh, babe” Barclay sets the phone on the counter, “what happened?”

“They said that unless there’s a miracle…I won’t be able to dance professionally. Ever again.”

Indrid hugs him closer and this time Joseph lets him, “I am sorry. I know that was not what you wanted to hear.”

Joseph shakes his head, hiding it in Indrid’s shoulder as Barclay joins them, rubbing his palm along the dancer’s back.

“It’s okay to be upset. That’s fucking devastating.” Barclay rumbles, “I know you’ll find something else you’re amazing at but…it’s okay if it just fucking sucks right now.”

A sharp inhale, then Joseph looks up, “I’m not giving up that easy.”

They trade a worried look and Indrid cocks his head, “What do you mean?”

“They said a miracle, but there’s no such thing. Just hard work and odds, and one of those has always worked in my favor. I’m not giving up, I’m not.”

“Babe-“ Barclay tries to take his hand, only for Joseph to whirl in place, functionally spinning both their hands away.

“If you think I’m not up to the task then just fucking say it.”

“Neither of us thinks any such thing. You asked us to be realistic. To not try to, ah, brightside you, as it were. Besides, it worries me that you’re planning to push yourself on this. You could be hurt again, hurt worse. You know as well as I do that you have lasted longer than many other dancers do. Why not allow yourself to go out with grace instead of too shattered to do much at all?”

Blue eyes lock onto him, “If you’re going to talk like Apollo, get out of my house.”

He feels himself pull inward, his guts tangle instinctively, and then Barclay’s hands are on his shoulders as the cook stands behind him.

“Yeah, okay, we’re gonna go. Whatever this conversation is, you’re not in the fucking place for it right now.”

“I-“

“Uh uh” Barclay shakes his head, “You don’t get to be pissed at us for trying to support you how you asked us to. When you’re ready to talk about this without being a fucking dick about it, you know where we’ll be.”

Indrid allows himself to be steered out the door, the sting of the argument warring with the affection he feels for the man who’s so quick to protect him.

Joseph doesn’t try to stop them, and when the door closes he’s still standing in the kitchen, eyes on the floor, fists at his sides, and face worryingly flat.

“’Drid? Joe? Anybody home?”

Joseph bolts awake on the couch, sending his phone from his lap to the floor with the half-composed message still on the screen.

It’s now a ginger walk rather than a hobble to the door, but Duck is still gets in another knock before he swings it open.

“Hey slick, y’all must’ve…” Duck takes in his expression and the empty room behind him, “huh.”

His tongue always pokes the inside of his cheek when he says that, and even the charm of that quirk is below what Joseph deserves right now.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Yep.” The ranger steps through the door, hanging up his hat and unlacing his boots, “event ended a little early, so I figured I’d swing by to spend some time with y’all. Or, uh, at least get to watch the show if things were already hot and heavy.” He sets the boots on the floor, “Guessin I missed somethin’.”

Joseph tells him, feeling dirt and then like the bugs under the dirt when Duck looks shocked at his comparing Indrid to his twin.

“I know. I’ve been trying to come up with an apology but…”

“But it feels like nothin’ is quite right. I get it.” Duck smiles ruefully at his surprise, “you think he and I ain’t ever fought? Know he and Barclay have, too. Far as I can tell, apologizing without tryin’ to excuse it seems to be the way to go.”

Joseph types for a moment while Duck excuses himself to the bathroom.

Joseph: I’m sorry for earlier. I’m upset and scared and I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. I hope you and Barclay were able to salvage your night. I’m sorry

He hits “send” and sets the phone aside, trying not to monitor it and mainly succeeding at tearing his cuticles.

“Done.” He murmurs when Duck sits beside him, “It’s been so long since I really dated. I forgot how stressful it is to feel like I’m flailing around trying to do the right thing and being terrified I’ll get something wrong.”

“I know slick. Fella like you needs rules to follow.” It’s a gentle tease, Ducking lightly bumping their elbows together. 

“Yes, but useful ones. Not no-fucking-on-the-first-date ones”

“Howsabout this: first one is my one sub ain’t allowed to be mean to my other sub.”

“I’m not your sub.” He means it to sound matter-of-fact. It comes out as a challenge.

“No? You do whatever I say, want my attention, and go all weak kneed when I praise you.” His voice dips lower, “Sounds like you’re my sub to me.”

“You really want me to be?”  Given that he can’t stand to be around himself right now, it’s a struggle to see how Duck could possibly want to.

“If you want. I like you, Joe. I like flirtin with you, and hearin your corny jokes, and to hear ‘Drid tell it I oughta be beggin to fuck you. If you wanna be my sub, or date or anythin’ like that, all you gotta do is say so.”

Joseph meets his eyes, “Please?”

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard.” Duck cups his chin and pulls him in for a kiss.

There’s nothing showy or frantic in Ducks’ kisses, just the same, quiet confidence that’s made Joseph want to kneel and rest his head in his lap for months. Strange as it is, there’s familiarity as well, as if they were meant to fit together this way and the universe has been tapping its foot, waiting for them to catch up with the plan.

“We should-“

“We can hash the rest of it out later. I promise. I’m more interested in what you want right now.” Duck kisses his jaw, slips his hands into Joseph’s front pockets.

“You. Beyond that I’m not really sure, I’m so fucking turned on right now but I still feel all petulant.”

“I can work with that.” Duck is moving them slowly but surely toward the bedroom, “got lots of ways of bringin’ a fella into line when he’s bein’ difficult.”

“How…how difficult am I allowed to be?”

The ranger pauses, giving Joseph a chance to flip on the bedroom light, “Don’t out and out act like you don’t want it. I ain’t opposed to that kinda scene but we gotta work up to it. You say stop, I’ll stop, but only for that word. An ‘I can’t take it’ or a ‘please no more,’ anything like that, I’ll just take as part of the game. That work?”

“Yes. Just steer clear of my Achilles, and we probably should avoid putting any pressure on it.”

“Roger that.”

“And please don’t call me stupid. Or useless.”

“I won’t. Half because you asked and half because they’d be damn lies and you know how bad I am at those. Now” Duck grabs the hem of Joseph’s shirt and yanks it off over his head, “get naked and get on the bed. Face down.”

“Yes, sir.” Joseph turns, laughs when Duck gives him a light smack on the ass.

“Good boy.”

Joseph lays on his stomach, savoring the sight of Duck stripping down to his boxers, and wonders if Indrid ever pounces on him in these moments, if the sight of his round ass and thick thighs is too much and overrides any patience. Because that’s how it’s starting to feel right now.

“I see that look. You keep your hands to yourself until I say. This is still a punishment.”

“Honestly that’s a more effective one than the spanking is going to be.”

Duck chuckles, bending to kiss him before finishing his climb onto the bed, “Don’t be so sure, darlin.”

“I’ve danced on point for years, I cannot stress how much pain I can OW”

A crooked grin as Duck kneads the red spot on his ass, “You were sayin?”

“Nothing, sir.”

“Thought so.”

The next smack catches the other side, stinging perfectly, and Joseph sighs and rests his cheek on the bedspread. Counts ten hits before Duck stops. Just before he’s about to ask why, both hands come down at once, one on either side, twice as hard as before.

“Fuckingshit-“

Another hard smack, “Thought you ballerinas were supposed to be all dainty and shit.”

“Fuck you.” Joseph laughs, “we don’t all come from, from OW, worlds where it’s normal to spit out blood.”

“Shame” Duck slaps from the side this time, “bet you’d look real handsome bleedin’ a bit. Nothin’ too serious” another slap and Joseph whines into the nearest pillow, “maybe a split lip from bein’ roughed up before getting fucked six ways to Sunday.”

“Fuck” He’s been wet since Duck started stripping, and now it’s threatening to soak through the blankets.

“You like that, slick?”

He keeps his mouth shut.

Duck grips the back of his neck, “Answer me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fuckin’ knew it. ‘Drids been telling me some of what you like and I knew that was just the top of it. Guy like you, all intense, no way you ain’t hiding some real kinky ideas up here.” He bends and kisses the top of Josephs head, then cards a hand through it, “we could do a lot of ‘em I bet. What do you say to, hmm” a slow, painful slap as Duck thinks, “Three tough guys havin fun with the ballerina that was too stuck up to give ‘em the time of day?”

“Yes” It’s so slurred he’s amazed Duck understands him.

“You like that? Like thinkin’ about us all getting our hands on you at once?”

“Fuck” he whimpers as the slaps intensify.

“We could get real into it too, each try’n pick you up at a bar and then ambush you once you got back here, show you just what you’d been missin’ out on, fuck you so hard you end up a cryin’ mess covered in cum by the end. Make sure you don’t every worry about bein’ useless again because your whole purpose is to spread your legs like a good boy whenever one of us asks, and we ask every goddamn day because you’re so fuckin’ perfect it drives me fuckin crazy-“

A final, stinging slap does him in and he sobs what might be Duck’s name but could easily be the sound he’s kept bound up in his chest since the appointment.

“Oh, oh darlin hey” Duck gingerly rolls him onto his back, “we still-“

“Good, so good, Duck please.”

The ranger dips down and kisses him, hungry and tender, and moves Josephs hands up to his sides.

“There we go, feel me up all you want ahhey!” He snickers as Joseph paws his ass, “yeah, you and ‘Drid go right for the same spot.”

“Can you blame either of us? This was made to be appreciated.”

“Appreciate it anytime you want slick” Duck slips a hand beneath his boxers, bracing himself on his free arm, “jesusfuck, the things you make me say, god just lookin’ at you drives me fuckin outta my mind half the time, ain’t fare someone gets to be that fuckin hot and such a fuckin nerd, god I am gonna fuckin ruin you one of these days” a moan as Joseph greedily gropes his ass and thighs, “yeah darlin, I like that, fuck, fuck” a gasp and Duck nearly loses his balance, Joseph steadying him as the orgasm shakes through him.

He realizes, belatedly, that he’s been—and still is—crying into the kiss.

“Lemme, lemme get” Duck groans, sitting up, “lemme get you a Kleenex or something.”

One stagger to and from the bathroom later, Duck’s hand gently rubs his lower back as he wipes his eyes and blows his nose.

“You still doin’ okay?”

“Yes.” He rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “christ I needed that.”

“Want me to get you off?”

“In theory? Yes. Realistically, I think I just put all my energy into whatever that catharsis was and if I try to do anything else I’ll just pass out.” He turns a hopeful gaze on the dom, “I wouldn’t say no to some kissing though.”

“Aw hell yeah.” Duck pulls him into an embrace and Joseph lets himself be lost to it. There’s no future to worry about, no past to regret, just Duck’s arms around him and the heart-aching comfort of the feeling of his smile each time Joseph kisses him.

Eventually, Duck leaves in search of some blankets to replace the ones Joseph tosses in the laundry. As he does, Joseph looks at his phone and finds a message waiting.

Indrid: Thank you for the apology, pet. We had a very nice evening, but the next one will be better because you will be here too. Will call tomorrow. I love you.

He hasn’t ruined it. They still care about him, even when he fucks up.

Joseph: I love you, too.

“You really didn’t have to all of this.” Joseph takes the glass of wine Barclay offers him as Melody waves her hand dismissively.

“It wasn’t only my idea. You were a principal dancer for years; it wasn’t hard to get the producers and such to foot the bill for a farewell party.”

“That’s nice to hear.” He looks into the glass, feeling less bitter than he expected. He’s had at least a half-dozen dancers come up to him and tell him he was who inspired them to take up dance or try out for the company in the first place. That soothes the sting considerably, as does the fact that all three boyfriends were able to come with him (Barclay in particular seems to be catnip to the dancers, a fact which Indrid finds deeply amusing).

“Joseph!” Vincent Capra appears beside them, holding out his hand, while Apollo hovers behind him “I’m glad I made it before you left for the night. Melody mentioned you’re considering translation services as a career change.”

“It’s one possibility.”

“If you go that direction, do let me know. There are a number of people in my circles who have a taste for books and fine art from all kinds of cultures but not the skills to read them.” Vincent tucks a card into the front pocket of Joseph’s deep blue suit, “On a more personal note, it’s been a pleasure watching you perform, and I know I speak for my fellow donors when I say the company was lucky to have had you for so many years.”

“Thank you, that means a lot.”

Vincent’s eyes flit behind him, to where Duck and Indrid are near the dessert table, chatting with Norma, one of the main choreographers.

“I’m glad to know you’re in good hands.”

Joseph blushes, wondering if this is good practice for introducing his partners to his family.

Vincent excuses himself, Apollo following at his heels with his usual insincere grin. Joseph turns his attention back to his rounds, Barclay extricating himself from his admirers long enough to join him. It’s easier to believe everything will work out when Barclays arm is around him.

A half hour later, he slips away to the lower floors to double check that he hasn’t left anything important behind at his station.

“Why am I not surprised that you are struggling to get out the door?”

He sighs, turning to look at Apollo. The gold accents on his suit make him look like a museum piece that Joseph would dearly like to knock over.

“I’m just being thorough.”

“Were it me, I would not miss a minute at a party like that. After all, this is you last time in any kind of spotlight.”

“Are we really going to get into this now?” Satisfied with his scan, he moves past the other dancer toward the door, “you got what you wanted. You’re staying, I’m going. Or is this because you worked out that you were the second choice for the lead in The Creature?”

“Do not be ridiculous. That was just a rumor” Apollo steps into his space, “I have always been the best dancer here. You were cast out of pity, or some misguided attempt to spread the wealth, not because you had any true talent. You were a decrepit dancer before I arrived here, and you should be grateful you were injured in the way you were. Otherwise everyone would have had a chance to watch you have the slow, pathetic decline you were destined for until some director or producer with actual sense fired you.”

It's just Apollo. He is always like this. We both know that.

He smiles at the Indrid in his head, and takes a deep breath.

“Are you done? I have a party to get back to.”

Apollo opens his mouth, but a different voice comes from behind Joseph in the hall.

“If he has any sense, he will be done.” Vincent stands with a disappointed expression on his face, “I came down here to tell you I was heading home and to offer a ride. But I think you can find the way back to your apartment yourself.”

“But-“ Something passes between Apollo and the older man, and then his (former) coworker turns away, “very well.”

Vincent shakes his head and offers Joseph an arm as they head up the stairs.

“I’m sorry. I thought he was growing past that but apparently, I was mistaken. Are you alright?”

“You know, I really am.” As they reach the main floor, he spots his boyfriends clustered by front door, watching something on Melody’s phone, “my work mattered to me, more than I had words for and maybe more than anything else. There’s no getting around that. But between you and me, well, I think I’ve found some things that matter even more.”

Chapter Text

Joseph assumed that leaving the ballet company would mean that his holiday season would be completely stress free. He should have known better. He can stress out about anything, let alone juggling the holidays with not one but three new boyfriends.

Halloween had actually been quite easy and fun. Joseph was delighted and wasn’t surprised in the least to learn that October 31^st was also Indrid’s birthday. Stern got to attend one of the willowy man’s extravagant Halloween/Birthday costume parties, full of new friends to meet, Barclay’s snacks to eat and B movie horror classics cycling on the television. Indrid had dressed as the Mothman while Duck dressed as Mothman’s kidnappee, wearing a sweater and jeans right out of the 60s. Barclay had decided to go as Bigfoot that year and Stern, loving a well-coordinated group costume, dressed as an FBI agent. The fine cut of the suit Stern chosen attracted the wondering hands and illicit whispers of all three men.

Halloween was also proverbial easy mode. The most nerve wrecking part of the holiday was choosing a costume and a gift for Indrid’s birthday (A book on the evolution of tattoo designs). Then there was Thanksgiving, which was more nerve-wrecking. Duck made the drive back home to see his family, and Barclay hosted a Friendsgiving that would put Martha Stewart to shame. Stern had tried to help with the preparations initially, but Indrid gave him the warning he needed.

“If Barclay wants help with the dinner, he will ask for it, but offering help will make him stressed.” The artist explained to Stern. “It’s his favorite day of the year and he wants to be steeped in the challenge.” He continued with a fond smile.

Despite the warning Indrid gave, Stern could not quiet the part of him that craved being useful. A few minutes of conversation with Barclay mid-knead proved Indrid’s point instantly. The chef didn’t snap or shout at Joseph, but his answers were short and curt, his mind absorbed in the work. Stern had always thought himself to be fastidious and organized, but one look at the stack of cookbooks, notebooks, and sticky notes that Barclay had crafted for this event was enough to make him reconsider.

In the end, the former dancer made himself useful by cleaning the apartment as if royalty was stopping by for a visit. This was an effort that Indrid especially appreciated (He was “lackluster” in such tasks). The dinner went off without a hitch, with all of Barclay and Indrid’s friends stuffed and thankful for a place to go to for the holiday.

Indrid made no mention of Apollo at any point during the holidays and Stern suspected that it had something to do with him. He couldn’t bring himself to ask though and simply enjoyed himself. As best he could, anyways.

Finally, the biggest holiday of the year came to rear its massive sense of expectation: Christmas.

Joseph had been celebrating Hannukah on his own, almost every year since he moved to the city. He’d had the small hope that he could fly back to see his family for the holiday, but his sister, parents and niece would be celebrating at his brother in law’s family ranch. Lily, his older sister, insisted that he could come along with no trouble at all, but Stern knew better. He never really interacted with his sister’s husband, much less with the rest of his family. Joseph knew he would be lonely and miserable the entire time. So he settled on mailing all of his Hannukah and Christmas gifts to his family and making plans on his own.

Stern tried to be content with his usual traditions. He knew Indrid, Barclay and Duck weren’t Jewish and didn’t want to impose himself on the trio. He was the newest one in the dynamic, what right did he have to spring this on them?

Duck wouldn’t allow it though.

“So, when is Hannukah?” the ranger asked. All four of them lounged around Stern’s apartment, drinking a new mulled wine recipe Barclay was trying out. The polycule carefully balanced a giant container of ‘Newton Family Shortbread’ between them all for optimal snacking.

“Oh, it’ll start in the middle of December this year.” Joseph told him, a little surprised that he’d asked. “You don’t have to worry about it, I’ve been celebrating on my own for ages now, I’m used to it.”

The other three men in the apartment looked at each other with an air of concern. Stern saw that look pass between them often, giving him a feeling or dread or endearment, seemingly at random.

“But we’d love to help you celebrate.” Indrid said. He snuggled so close to Joseph that the whole left side of his body pressed into the dark-haired man. “I’m sure between the three of our work schedules, you’ll never have to be alone the whole week!”

Joseph was stunned by the offer and he looked at the other two to see if Indrid had simply got overexcited and made a promise on Duck and Barclay’s behalf. All he saw on Duck and Barclay’s faces was love, and his heart turned into a puddle of affection.

Joseph could feel his eyes going a bit wet as he smiled at Indrid. “That would be really nice, actually.” He said, trying to embrace the warmth of the moment. Stern attempted to smother the terrible little voice in his head that was trying to tell him that this offer was only extended out of pity and not genuine affection.

“I can make sufganiyot.” Barclay offered. “I’ve cooked for a few Hannukah dinners in my time.”

“I hope you don’t mind givin’ us some pointers.” Duck said sheepishly.

“I would be delighted to.” Stern said. He was sure the power of his smile could light up a city block. “But I don’t have a problem celebrating Christmas with all of you as well. Though Duck, I’m sure you’ll be with-“

“Actually,” Duck interrupted. “My parents are goin’ on a cruise with my sister’s family. I couldn’t get the time off, so I’ll be here for the holiday.”

“It would be a crime to know you were in swim trunks somewhere tropical and be unable to enjoy it.” Indrid sighed dramatically.

Stern couldn’t disagree with that assessment.

True to their word, Stern spent every night of Hannukah with at least one of his boyfriends. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so festive as he fried foods with Barclay, taught Duck how to play Dreidel and created Hannukah crafts with Indrid (where the lanky man learned that Stern had the visual artistic instincts of a mediocre furniture store).

Christmas itself was held at Duck’s apartment, where Barclay made a ‘simple’ roast dinner, eggnog was drunk by the gallons and a marathon of cheesy Christmas movies was watched. Joseph was not as stressed as he imagined he would be. The only part of the holiday that gave him anxiety was buying gifts. He ended up buying Duck a new set of hiking boots (courtesy of the intel Indrid was willing to provide). Barclay received a transcript of his French cookbook, completely translated for his enjoyment. Indrid was gifted a weighted stuffed rat that could be warmed up in the microwave.

Joseph was relieved when all three of them seemed to love either gifts and was delighted himself by the gits he received: A new book on cryptozoology from Duck, a selection of artisan coffee from Barclay and a vintage wristwatch from Indrid.

As the four boyfriends crowded onto Duck’s couch, spilling onto each other underneath a blanket older than Duck, Joseph couldn’t imagine being more content. Maybe this whole relationship thing wouldn’t be as hard as he thought.

If Apollo knows anything about the ballet industry, it's this: December is the real money-making time of year for ballet companies everywhere. The glory of The Nutcracker tradition has kept the art of ballet funded and alive season after season; this makes it a strikingly convenient time for one to lose themselves in their work. It helps Apollo feel less alone than he could. He's surrounded by people for most of the day, every day for a month and a half.

He doesn't have time to dwell on the fact that Indrid still isn’t speaking to him. No perfunctory message or invitation for Christmas plans, no eventual reconciliation, not even a snarky text. Indrid had never gone this long without speaking to him before. Apollo will not let that bother him.

What does bother him is Vincent now only living in the periphery of his life. Even after Apollo tried to humiliate him, Vincent was still willing to give the younger man pleasantries. Now Vincent does all he can to subtly leave a room that Apollo has entered. Even at the Nutcracker performances (which Apollo knows Vincent takes his nieces and nephews to every year), Apollo notices that Vincent never comes to shows that he is performing in.

If he wasn’t bone-tired from work, it might crush Apollo utterly.

It nearly happens when January settles in and nothing is how it should be between Vincent and himself. He’s barely paying attention to their morning announcements for the ballet company. Their next production ia ‘Romeo and Juliet’, a classic for the month of February, and today would be the day that casting is announced. It doesn't really matter to Apollo, they’ve done this ballet before. He’ll be cast as Tybalt again and have fun with sword fighting. They must have called his name already and he didn’t notice.

“And finally, the roles of Romeo and Juliet will be played by Apollo Cold and Melody Legro.” Norma announceds with a smile.

Well, that has Apollo’s attention. Romeo was always Stern’s part (good riddance), so Apollo had forgotten that the role would be his for the taking now. He looks across the dance hall to find Melody looking right back at him.

Cold isn't terribly worried about Melody being his partner for this role. While her cheery demeanor grates on him at times, she's one of the most skilled ballerinas in the company. Now that Stern isn't a factor in their dynamic, he doesn't see why this couldn’t work out.

Unsurprisingly, the Italian woman approaches him after the meeting finishes. He wonders if her neck hurts from looking up so often.

“I am very excited to be working with you, Apollo.” She smiles. “We haven’t had an opportunity to work together since I joined.”

Apollo nods. He knows how to be professional to people that aren't a direct threat to him. “I think it will be a good challenge for the both of us.” It would be no challenge to himself, obviously, but that’s just what you said to other people.

“Indeed.” Melody says. “With that in mind, if you would like to rehearse together one on one after rehearsals, I would be eager to do so.”

Well, at least she has a decent work ethic. “Perfect. We’ll start after our first rehearsal.”

He proceeds to request additional practice after rehearsal every day for 6 days straight. Apollo loathes the idea of returning to his apartment alone; not having Vincent visit the space makes it feel lonelier than ever. Melody is always willing to stay behind anyways, so it's no issue at all.

As Melody refills her water bottle on the 6^th night, her face scrunches up in thought. When she returns to Apollo’s side, her eyes are bright with curiosity and her posture is more relaxed.

“You must be really excited for this role, Apollo.” She starts casually.

“Of course. A lead role fits my talents.”

“I do not disagree. But we have been rehearsing every day for nearly a week. Do you never get tired at all?”

Apollo scoffs. “Of course not. Unlike some people, I am not weak.”

“Everyone needs a break eventually, Apollo. You are a man, not a machine.” She says gently.

Apollo has nothing to say to that, so he ushers them to rehearsing once more. Melody goes along with it, despite the pensive look on her face. This continues for another 45 minutes or so before Melody decides to take a hammer to Apollo’s facade.

“Are you and Mr. Capra fighting?” she asks.

“No.” Apollo says automatically. “He was simply no longer interesting company.”

“I find that hard to believe. Considering how much you tried to get his attention in the first place. What happened?”

Apollo can't understand where Melody got the nerve to ask this. On the other hand, he hasn't really talked to anyone about this yet. “… it was Stern’s fault.”

Melody gives him a look he's never seen on her before: Withering.

“Vincent heard us talking and then he stopped speaking to me.”

Melody crosses her arms over her chest. “Were you talking to Joseph? Or were you bullying him?”

“I was saying goodbye.”

“So Vincent heard you insult him.”

Nothing gets past this woman, it seems. “It was a private conversation!”

“Really? That’s going to be your excuse? You didn’t want Vincent to see how vicious you can be when you think no one is looking?”

“I’m not doing it to him! What does he care!?”

“Because Vincent is a kind man. And kind men do not tolerate bullies. Especially bullies who kick people while they’re down.”

It doesn't matter that Melody was right, she didn’t have to say it like that. Like he doesn't know that already.

Melody sighs at his petulant silence. “Tell me, Apollo; What do you like about Vincent?”

“He is superior to anyone else.” An easy answer.

“Try again.” Melody orders.

“… he is very detail oriented. He has excellent taste in music and clothes and movies. He remembers so many things about people that don’t matter. He’s actually very funny. He’s intelligent and well spoken… and he’s really nice.” The more Apollo talks, the more he realizes how much he misses Vincent. It's worse than he thought.

“Exactly. He is nice. And he likely wants a partner that is also nice to people.”

Damn Melody and her logical arguments. Apollo can only let out a noise of frustration. He isn't a nice person, he never has been!

“So why do you do it, Apollo? You didn’t need to insult Joseph at his own going away party. Nobody made you do it. So why?”

“… I think I am just like this.” Apollo responds after a moment of inner debate. “I have always been like this, and that is the only reason I have gotten as far as I have.”

“Now I know that’s a lie.” Melody says giving Apollo a small smile. “For all of your faults, you are talented. You have skill and determination that very few people have. I’m willing to bet you that is what actually got you this far.”

Apollo cocks his head as he looked at Melody. The implication that Apollo’s talents alone was what made him successful was foreign to him. Sure, he is very talented and that certainly helped. His ruthlessness is what made him a cut about the rest.  It had to be true… it had to be.

Melody’s face softens when he doesn't respond. “I don’t know why you think you need to attack people to get ahead in life. But you don’t. You can stand on your own without stepping on people around you.”

Melody’s words stick with Apollo through the rest of their private rehearsal, which Melody lets continue in professional peace. He continues to ponder them for two more days, then asks Melody if she thinks that Vincent would accept an apology for his behavior towards Stern.

“No. You need to apologize to Stern. That is who needs the apology.”

“Ah. I see.” Is all Apollo had to say about that. Something like that was going to take work and time. All the time that Apollo can procrastinate, really. Melody does give him the offer of listening to his apologies, to give him pointers that he would need.

And need them he does.

“No, Apollo, you cannot compliment yourself in the middle of your apology.”

“But it’s so easy!”

As the weeks progress, Apollo and Melody talk more and more in between breaks in group rehearsals.

The Italian opens the door to actual friendship on the day Apollo decides to try out a new perfume he’d bought for himself.

“Is that Vanilla Sex?” Melody asks without thinking. She stiffens before laughing at herself and flushing. “I mean, the scent that you are wearing. It is Vanilla Sex by Tom Ford, yes?”

“It is.” Apollo answers, not hiding his surprise.

“I thought you smelled familiar! Oh, I’m sorry.” Melody laughes again. “That sounds so strange. It’s just that one of my girlfriends wears the same kind on special occasions.”

That makes sense. It isn't as if Tom Ford was cheap. “She has good taste.” Apollo admits

“She does. She likes the vanilla and dessert scents. I prefer the florals myself. Have you tried Hermes Oud Alezan?”

From then on, they discuss more than just their choreography. They talk about fragrances, beauty routines, and fashion. Melody always seems happy to hear what Apollo has to tell her about the latest fashion shows or additions to his extensive beauty routine. At the same time, Apollo notices that he was growing used to Melody’s hyperactive tangents on calligraphy and charity work. They don't talk about their families much, and is was fine by Apollo.

Melody is even willing to tone down conversations about her girlfriends. For the sake of Apollo’s lonely heart, he suspects. He is, however, extended a dinner invitation after the production was finished.

“I can’t wait to introduce you to my beloveds. They’re all quite excited to meet you.” Melody gushes as she and Apollo pack up from another late-night rehearsal. “Maybe if you get that apology worked out, you can bring Mr. Capra with you.” She says with a small smile.

Apollo can only hope that things would work out by then.

As the New Year comes and goes (celebrated at a bar that Barclay knows the owner of) and Joseph is finally deemed ‘fully healed’, Joseph starts to feel a quiet dread start to build in himself. He isn't sure what starts it, but he's sinking in the thought before he realizes it was a fully formed threat in his psyche: the other shoe will drop.

He desperately tries to figure out why he feels this way, hoping it's simply his anxieties getting the best of him. Meditation on the matter doesn't make the idea seem any less valid. Maybe it's the fact that Indrid and Barclay already know each other’s quirks inside and out, unintentionally making Joseph feel like an outsider at times.

“I think I’ll get this beanie for Indrid.” Stern says to Barclay as they wander a craft market one Sunday morning.

Barclay looks at Stern’s selection and shakes his head. “Indrid’s not really a hat guy. Says they make his head itch too much.”

“Oh.”                                                                                                           

“I think he’d like a scarf though. He always likes being bundled up.” Barclay advises. He smiles when he speaks and there's no condescension in his tone, but Joseph supplies enough of it himself to make up for it.

It's tiny moments like this that add up to Stern feeling inadequate in the dynamic. Indrid, Barclay and Duck all go together so perfectly, already knowing each other’s quirks and idiosyncrasies. Joseph loves to learn about all of them, but he feels like he's playing catch up to things that are so obvious to the trio.

Then there's the matter of scheduling. Joseph is still working freelance translation gigs that Vincent sends his way, so that gave the man a lot of free time. The other three have schedules to follow, shifts to adhere to, and other non-work obligations. There are great stretches where Joseph didn’t see any of them.

Though the former dancer is loathe to admit it, it makes him feel lonely. Coupled with that is a retroactive guilt over how packed his own schedule used to be. He begins to believe that this scheduling situation is karma for being distant in the beginning of their budding relationship.

Compounding all of this is Joseph’s steadfast belief that he shouldn’t say a word of this to the others. He's the newest one in this polycule, what right does he have to raise a fuss? He believes any problems he's experiencing are derived from his own unfortunate neediness and not valid enough to bring to their attention.

All three men are lovely to him, making him feel treasured and cared for when they're together, both in and out of the bedroom. When Joseph is alone, however, the terrible anticipation of disaster creeps into his mind to torment him. Even when they're all together, having a fantastic time, Joseph feels guilty for the tiny moments when he feels like an outsider.

The longer these fears go unacknowledged, the more elaborate and terrible they become. Joseph is beginning to believe that he isn't worth the trouble of integrating into his boyfriend’s lives. Every fulfilled request he makes to his boyfriends starts to make Stern feel like a needy burden. He's so new to all of this, what right does he have to make their lives more difficult?

As February begins and Joseph still doesn't have a stable career, he becomes positive that the trio will break up with him before Valentine’s Day. He comes to the conclusion during another lonely night in his apartment. He desperately needs the comfort of his boyfriends, but he refuses to even think about calling them in his hour of need.

His entire career was put to an end by one critical injury. He's sure it won't take much to break this beautiful, fragile new relationship. It's simply a matter of time

Chapter Text

Duck is prone to hunches. He’s always been the kind who picks up on more than he gets credit for. Add to that his drawl and sometimes shaggy-dog style of speech and you get people who won’t bother listening to his explanations. The word “hunch” does the heavy lifting for him with fewer people thinking he’s a hick.

He’s been getting a lot of said hunches lately, thanks to Joe. They’re not the same ones he’d had shortly after they met. It’s not skittishness he’s sensing, not the animal waiting to run when things go south. It’s the way injured animals sometimes go limp when you rescue them. Resignation bordering on acceptance.

The last time he felt like this was right before a girlfriend dumped him. Seems to him he and Joe are due for a chat.

His boyfriend is currently laying on an ice pack; he loved pain back when he was still healing, even if it was just a light tug of the hair or a love bite. Now that he’s cleared for more intense activity, he’s the most durable sub Duck’s ever had.

The strange part is, he never cries, not even on the two occasions where Duck had to ice his own hands afterward. He mentioned this to Indrid, who suggested that years of high-intensity dance training might have warped what his body even registers as pain worth protesting.

“You still doin’ okay there, slick?”

“I think I’m bruised in places I didn’t know I had. Which is saying something.”  He’s so relaxed like this, in an old t-shirt with a cartoon Hodag on it and a borrowed pair of boxers.

“Takin’ that as a yes.” He sinks into the bed next to Joe, “I like that you put up a little resistance. S’nice challenge.”

“It’s any challenge” Joe teases, “Indrid would do just about anything for you. In or out of bed.”

He’d do the same for you. You know that. Right?

“Speakin’ of ‘Drid, you feel like helpin’ me plan my Valentine’s Day surprise for him?”

“You don’t already have plans?”

“He said he ain’t into anythin’ elaborate, seein’ as this is the first Valentine’s Day where we’re a full-on couple. Besides, know the big fella isn’t takin’ Indrid out to a fancy dinner, because you and he are goin’ to that new place down on fifth street. Point is, I still wanna surprise ‘Drid with somethin’.” He grins, “or are you cookin’ up a surprise of your own?”

Joe looks at his hands, smiling, and shakes his head.

There it is again. That resignation that almost passes as nonchalance.

Duck rests his head on the taller man’s chest. The t-shirt is thin enough he can see the bite marks he left an hour ago.

“C’mon darlin’, you’re supposed to be the organized one.” He teases. He’d miss the change in Joe’s posture completely if he weren’t laying on him. So he takes a breath and continues, “What’s botherin’ you?”

“Nothing. I’m just worn out.”

“Joe, just because I can’t lie for shit doesn’t mean I can’t tell when someone else is.”

His boyfriend sits up, shifting Duck off of him, “Maybe that’s the case sometime, but not now.”

It feels mean to press it, but the hunch tells him it’d be meaner to let Joe keep stewing in whatever he’s telling himself.

“This got anythin’ to do with why you’re takin longer to text ‘Drid back. Or why you cancelled on Barclay twice this month?”

The words come out more accusatory than he means them, and Joe visibly bristles as he stares Duck down.

“Do you really want an answer?”

“Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

Joe fixes him with a look that suggests he thinks Duck will regret that comment, “Fine. I know you three are…are planning to end things with me by Valentines Day at the latest.”

Duck stares at him. Then he stares some more, because what in the absolute fuck?

“I’m not oblivious, Duck. I can tell the way things are heading.” Joe stands and Duck, unsure of what else to do, slings an arm around his hips to keep him from stepping farther from the bed.

“You really think any one of us would do that to you?”

“Relationships end all the time, it’s not a fucking conspiracy theory to believe your partners might break up with you.” Joe stops moving but won’t sit back down, won’t look at him.

Duck turns Joe to he’s facing the bed again, “Okay, first off, you gotta stop talkin’ like me, ‘Drid and Barclay are one thing. Or do you really think we’re just one interchangeable lump?”

“No.” Joe replies immediately.

“Then you gotta know we each choose who we date. We don’t fuckin vote on who stays or goes like it’s fuckin Survivor. Second-of-fuckin-all, where is this idea even comin’ from?” He spreads his hand against a shaking lower back, keeps his voice gentle, “You think I’m mad at you or something?”

“No! It’s I…it just feels like how things will go. I’m dead weight, Duck.”

“Who’s been sayin’ that?”

Joe simply shrugs, gesturing at himself.

“That’s what I thought. You’re a smart guy, Joe. But sometimes I think that means your brain is too damn good at convincing you that the things that make you anxious are all true.”

“Lord, it sounds so fucking pathetic and ridiculous when I say it out loud, doesn’t it?” Joe starts to crumple, laughing weakly, so Duck guides him back down into his lap, “I’m sorry Duck, I’m being ridiculous, I just, I can’t stop feeling like I’m not bringing anything to the relationship.”

Duck’s shocked enough to laugh, then quickly cups Joe’s face in his hands, “You bring you, slick. That’s kinda why I’m datin’ you.”

There’s a small, choked laugh and then Joe’s face presses against his neck, “Fuck, I’ve been acting like such a fucking fool, this has everything to do with what I’m going through in my own head than anything you or the others have done-“

“I get it. I promise. Just…promise next time you’ll say somethin’ sooner rather than stewin’?”

“I’ll do my best.” Joe takes a deep breath, relaxing while wrapping his arms around Duck, “I need to talk to Indrid and Barclay.”

“You want some help explainin’ it all?”

Joe shakes his head, “No. I think I need to do it myself. I’ve got to get better at not bottling all this up. For all of you, and for myself.”

“Makes sense.” Duck rests his head against Joe, “You feel like getting under the covers? Think you could use some time just bein’ held.”

“Yes, please.”

“After you, slick.”

“……That’s basically the gist of it.” Joseph watches Indrid as he finishes his explanation, a slightly more coherent version than he told Duck. His boyfriend is curled in his favorite chair, the one with dark purple fabric that’s so cushy Indrid might just be swallowed up some day.

“I am glad you told me.” Indrid fidgets with the sleeve of his sweater.

“It just feels like I’ll never be as good a partner as I should be and-“

“And if you cannot be the best version, what is the point in trying, or in allowing yourself to be happy?”

Joseph raises an eyebrow. Indrid offers a grim smile.

“Some of my brother’s near-monomaniacal need for perfection is self-generated. Much of it was installed in him and myself since we were old enough to walk. He got the brunt of it on account of the more prestigious career. And because he remained in contact with our father longer than I did.”

“I..I didn’t realize. Indrid, I’m so sorry, growing up like that must have been miserable.”

His boyfriend moves seats to perch on the armrest of the couch nearest to Joseph, “I don’t talk about it in detail much. Duck and Barclay both know, but in each case it came out in bits and pieces.” He pushes Joseph’s hair from his face; he hasn’t been bothering to slick it back, which should have been the clue to how badly he was really feeling, “You and I haven’t even been dating a year. We still have a great deal to learn about each other. “

“Like secret identities?” He takes Indrid’s hand

“Ooh, is this where you tell me you’re really a dashing secret agent.”

He smiles “That’s about as likely as you telling me you’re actually Mothman.”

“I must keep some secrets for after our first anniversary.” Indrid leans down and kisses him. He doesn’t pull back right away; he stays close and murmurs, “Joseph Stern, I am very much looking forward to futures with you in them. However those may look.”

Joseph smiles up at the strange, stunning man who still loves him in spite of him being an anxious wreck, believing every word he says.

“You really thought I’d dump you on Valentines Day?” Barclay stares at him, horrified, which is not making Joseph feel any less ridiculous for his assumptions.

(It they were rational, he reminds himself, they wouldn’t be part of an anxiety disorder).         

“Yes, because my brain is being an asshole.” Joseph scoots closer on the couch, “you’re the sweetest guy I know, Barclay.  You wouldn’t pull something like that. I know that. It’s just so hard to make myself believe it.”

“Baby.” Barclay draws the word out slightly, pulling Joseph into his arms. For a minute he just holds him, and Joseph lets himself sink against him, rub his cheek against the skin-warmed flannel and ghosts of woodsy soap.  

“Honestly I…I kinda expected something like this might happen. You had a hell of a time at the start letting Indrid or me take care of you. And I’m the guy who’s been dumped at least once for being “too attentive.” Barclay pulls back enough to look at him, “I just wish you’d said something sooner.”

“Me too.”

“Also for fucks sake don’t text me ‘we need to talk’ with no details. Spent half the day worried you were gonna dump me.”

“Ohgod” It’s Joseph’s turn to pull his boyfriend into a hug, “I’m sorry, big guy. God, I feel like such a doofus. As Duck would say.”

Barclay kisses his forehead, “You still don’t have a thing on Indrid when it comes to cryptic texts. Still not sure what his emojis mean sometimes.”

“It’s important to have some mystery in life, I guess.”

“Yeah. But no more mysteries about how you’re feeling, okay? I know you think I’m a six-foot puppy, but I promise I can take the tough conversations. We’re worth those, don’t you think?”

Joseph rests his head on Barclay’s shoulder, “I really do.”

The most difficult part of Valentine’s Day turns out to be keeping Indrid’s surprise hidden until the right date. A three- foot tall Mothman plushy viewed online is one thing; finding a closet to hide it where the cat can’t get it is another. Joseph stashed it at his apartment until the 14^th, when Duck came to pick him up and the two of them positioned it in the living room so Indrid would see it when he came to Duck’s that night.

Duck had had flowers for him, too. Daffodils from the downstairs neighbor’s garden. Which made Joseph glad he’d taken the time to wrap the shiny, new multi-tool he got the ranger (his old one had lost a battle with tent stake and some very packed dirt).

He spent the day on translations jobs, interrupted only by some selfies of Indrid in the studio bathroom that showed off the new set of nipple rings Barclay bought him beautifully.

Dinner was at Xiao Ye, a spot getting rave reviews for it’s Chinese-American fine dining. Barclay absolutely nerds out over the masa madeline appetizers while Joseph sips a cocktail containing yuzu and Japanese whiskey. He feels a bit self-conscious tearing into his branzino with only slightly more grace than a bear. Until Barclay leans in to be heard under the din of the other diners and growls, “That’s the hottest thing I’ve seen all day.”

As they’re driving home, Barclay glances his way with a smirk.

“Indrid told me about the ‘Instruction’ fantasy.”

“Oh lord” Joseph gives a tipsy laugh, “I forgot he was listening when Duck got me to admit that.”

“I think it sounds hot as fuck. Besides, the four of us have never fucked around all at the same time. And Indrid and I both have next Sunday off….”

Joseph pulls out his phone, fingers already buzzing with anticipation, “I’ll put on the calendar.”

Duck’s already there when Joseph gets to Indrid and Barclay’s apartment; Joseph had taken a last-minute interview for a French tutor position, and texted them that they didn’t need to wait for him.

“We only kinda waited.” Barclay welcomes him in with a kiss. He’s in a grey t-shirt and jeans, though from the bulge already forming at the zipper, Joseph is guessing those won’t be on much longer, “Duck decided he wanted Indrid in subspace before you got here.”

“Just need him comfy and relaxed.” Duck reclines on the couch in a white shirt and his boxers. Indrid is curled across his lap, silver hair a mess over his eyes and the rest of him hidden beneath a blanket. Joseph guesses that if he lifts the fabric, Indrid will be naked.

“I guess this is more than you usually demand of him.” Joseph teases, leaning down for a kiss.

What he gets is a fist in his hair.

“Now, slick, you and me gotta get somethin’ real straight; ‘Drid here does everythin’ I tell him, and he’s a sweet little thing besides. Unlike you.”

“Didn’t take you for the brat, babe.” Barclay is behind him, arms around his waist and lips on his neck.

“I’m not. I’m, I follow the rules, I do as I’m told, just ask Indrid.”

“Mm, he does.” Indrid murmurs, eyes closed as he cuddles closer to Duck, “But like both of you, he knows I am but a delicate flower. I’ve not interested in asserting myself too intensely.”

Duck releases his hair, “I know sugar, that’s why we’re doin’ this. Joe’s a good sub, but he belongs to all three of us, and sometimes I ain’t gonna be here to give him the firm hand he needs.”

“Speaking of.” Barclay spins Joseph around, kissing him hungrily while yanking his sweater and shirt off. Joseph laughs, cupping his face and stroking his beard.

“Keep him like that would you, big fella? I gotta get the rope.”

Indrid whines while Barclay pulls Joseph closer. Joseph takes the chance while his hands are still completely free to undo Barclay’s fly and palm him until he moans.

“Won’t be long, sugar. Then the real fun starts.” Duck leaves the room, returns a few seconds later with a length of silver rope, “Turn him to face me a minute?”

“Sure thing.”

“Can you hold the end of this for me too? Thanks, man.” Duck passes Barclay one end of the rope over Joseph’s shoulder. It’s softer than he expected as Duck begins looping it around his chest and crossing it over his shoulders.

“You doin’ okay?” He kisses Joseph’s neck.

“It feels good. Almost comforting.”

“Glad to hear it. Hands behind your back for me? Gotta make sure this won’t be too tight in the final tie-off.”

Joseph obeys, and a few more passes of the rope and turns of his body later, the rope forms a harness across his chest and upper back, ending with a piece trapping his wrists together behind his back.

Duck moves back to the couch, coaxing Indrid to his feet, “C’mon sweet thing, time to try your hand at bein’ rough.”

They move into the bedroom, Barclay moving so he’s sitting against the wall at the head of the bed and helping Joseph down into position. They discussed it beforehand, and keeping his head in Barclay’s lap while being on knees seemed the best option; that way Barclay can keep him from collapsing or putting too much weight on his legs accidentally.

“Oughta have you wear something like this when we go out, under your suit.” Barclay pets his hair, “Fuck, shows your body of so fucking well.”

The bed dips behind him and Indrid trails his fingers over his lower back before making quick work of his pants and underwear.

“Okay sugar, start with your hand. Pick a nice soft target.” Duck’s hand gropes the right side of his ass, “About here is usually good.”

Indrid trails a nail along Joseph’s skin, sending goosebumps up in its wake. Then he lands the barest hint of a slap on his ass.

Duck cracks up, and Joseph does his best to hide his laugh against Barclay’s thigh.

“Well, the whole point is for you instruct me.” Indrid huffs, the tiniest bit haughty.

“You’re right, little moth. We gotta pretend I didn’t walk in on you leaving scratch marks and bites on Joseph’s ass two weeks ago.”

“Those were nips at best!” Indrid giggles, then whacks at Joseph’s ass again, “Is that better?”

“You learn fast.” The sound of a kiss, “Go a little harder. Trust me, he can take it. Right, Joe?”

“Yes, sir.” He gasps as Indrid manages to hit the same spot twice in a row.

“There we go. See how nice and pink he’s goin’ for us?”

“It does suit him rather well.” Indrid brings his hand down on the left side this time, sets a steady pace of slaps, alternating sides seemingly on a whim. By the time he pauses, Joseph’s cock is aching.

“Fuck that’s hot.” Barclay groans, canting his hips slightly so his hard cock brushes Joseph’s cheek.

“Sir? My hand is beginning to hurt.”

“Good boy, sugar, tellin’ me that. Here, lemme get you somethin’ else.”

There’s a whoosh of something in the air and Joseph tenses on instinct.

“Heh, you remember this darlin? Had you beggin so hard I could barely make out what you were sayin.”

“Yes, sir, I rememberSHIT, ohgod.” His wrists twist where they’re tied as the cane portion of the crop lands across both sides of his ass at once.

“Oooh, that is fun” Indrid hits him again the same way and he yelps.

“Now you’re startin’ to see why I like it so much. Joe’s the most put-together fella I know. Real honor gettin’ to watch him come apart.”

“Dunno, still looks pretty poised to me” Barclay pets his hair.

Indrid hits him three times without pause and Joseph cries out, pressing his face to Barclay’s thigh to muffle the noise.

“Lemme check somethin’.” Duck shoves two fingers roughly into him and he’s so wet he barely notices, “Yeah, he’s ready. Okay sugar, get a condom on and show me how rough you can fuck him.”

There’s a scramble of fabric and foil (and possibly Indrid toppling over for a moment) before a cock slides into him and he moans.

“Ohyes, oh thank you, sir, thank you for letting me fuck him.”

“You’re welcome sugar, but you gotta show me you’ve been payin’ attention and you’ve got what it takes.”

“Yes, yesyes” Indrid sets a quick but not too rough pace, bowing himself over Joseph to kiss his back and nip at his ears. The little noises dropping from his mouth are adorable, and Joseph manages to turn his neck enough to kiss him, making the man above him beam brighter than the moon.

“C’mon, know you can go harder than that. And you can still slap him around.”

Indrid’s thrusts don’t change, but he does bring a very hard smack down on Joseph’s thigh. When he does it again, Joseph bites down on the fabric muffling him, remembering too late that it’s Barclay’s jeans.

“Fuck! Oh that’s good” Barclay groans, tilting Indrid’s face up for kiss, “That’s putting some fight in him.”

Indrid repeats the slap and Joseph takes the hint, biting down as much as he dares.

Barclay laughs, low and hungry, “Yeah babe, there’s that fire I love.”

“Well that ain’t gonna work. Sugar, pull out of him.”

“But-“

“Promise you’ll get to finish fuckin him, but if he’s got the energy to bite we gotta rough him up more. That’s the whole point of the lesson.”

Through the fuzzy haze of arousal, Joseph suspects they planned this piece ahead of time. Indrid pulls free of him and helps him sit up before more or less trading places with Barclay.

As Duck takes a spot beside Indrid, Joseph turns his head to kiss Barclay.

“Hi, big guy.”

“Hey” Barclay nuzzles him, stealing another kiss.

Then one hand closes around the ropes and the other grabs Josephs hip, and he understands the shape of the game.

“Ohfuck!” He claws uselessly at Barclay’s chest as his own is pushed out by the angle Barclay is pulling the ropes. At the same time, he’s using the harness to hold him against his body as he drives mercilessly up into him.

Barclay growls out a laugh while Indrid looks on in delight.

“Fuck, Barclay please, AH, go softer-“

“That’s not the magic word and you know it.” Barclay fucks him with abandon, “Fuck, been waiting all day for this, thought I was gonna cum just watching Indrid fuck you.”

Joseph moans helplessly, then shouts as Duck leans in and sucks a hickey into his throat.

“That’s your next job, sugar.” He kisses the bruise as Indrid scoots in next to him, “Leave as many bruises and bites on him as you can before Barclay finishes.”

“Which, fuck, isn’t gonna be long, fuck, babe, you tighten up so good when they hurt you.”

He gives up on words and lets himself be overcome by the way Barclay’s cock thuds into him, the messy, piercing movements of Indrid’s lips and teeth and the slow, deliberate bruising Duck’s mouth leaves on his neck and chest. Indrid seems to be more focused on his stomach, each bite making him buck as his cock throbs with the need for attention.

“Fuck, Joseph, that’s it baby take it, take deep, fuck” Barclay grunts, holding him tight as he cums. As he pants in his ear he adds, “One of these days, I’m gonna go bare just to heard Indrid fuck it back into you.”

“Yes” his head lolls back for a kiss, which Barclay gives before managing to move away.

Indrid takes his place without hesitation, fucking him far more aggressively than before as Duck pulls a wand from the box on the ground and lays back against the wall, working himself lazily with it.

“Use your fingers too, sugar. Wanna watch him cum with bruises on his chest and tears in his eyes.”

“Sir” Joseph gasps as Indrid obeys, working his fingers in well-practiced circles on his cock, “God, fuck, Indrid-“

“Right here pet, ohyes, that’s it, oh you shake so charmingly when you’re close.”

His knees nearly give as he cums, and the only reason he doesn’t fall forward is Indrid holding him in place to finish mid-thrust with a high, happy cry.

“My lovely pet.” Indrid murmurs against his shoulder.

“As long as you’ll have me.” Joseph manages to pant out.

“Whoof.” Duck is now flat on his back. He must have cum while Joseph was caught up in his own orgasm, “Man, that was” he inhales, “that was really something.”

“No kidding.” Barclay guides a practically purring Indrid into his arms, “Babe? You okay?”

“I,” Joseph yawns, bone tired in the best way, “someone should probably untie me.”

“Ohfuck, right.” Duck crawls over to him, peppering him with kisses as he frees him from the harness.

It takes awhile for them to change the covers and rinse the sweat and cum from themselves. But soon enough, Joseph is bundled on the couch in one of Barclay’s sweatshirts, Duck half asleep on his shoulder as Barclay snuggles beside him and Indrid finishes setting out water for everyone. Then he more or less flops into Barclay’s lap, kissing the bearded man until he laughs.

“Y’all wanna watch something while we wait for dinner to get here?”

“Sounds good. You wanna pick, little moth?”

“I believe it is Josephs turn. The remote is all yours, pet.”

Joseph will reach for it in a moment. But in this instant, he allows himself a beat to revel in the presence and affection and let himself really, truly believe his luck.

Chapter Text

“Apollo, another round of setting spray and you’ll never wash that off.” Melody chides her dance partner.

“Every bit helps, Melody.” Apollo shoots back. The statement doesn't hold as much venom as it could though. She knows that from experience. His hands are lightly shaking as he set the aerosol can back down, and Melody knows exactly why.

“I know you want to look good when you speak to Vincent tonight.” Melody smiles. “But you will look stunning, even if your makeup runs.” Apollo whipps his head around, offense clear on his face. “Not that it would!” she adds quickly.

He’s only just started to be open with her about his fascination with makeup artistry, but it's clear that Apollo had been studying this artform for a long time.

Apollo’s combative expression is re-sheathed and replaced with the barest hint of doubt. “… how will I get him to talk to me though?”

“Oh, I will send him your way after the show, after you apologize to Stern.”

Apollo looks befuddled by that. “How am I supposed to do that!? The performance starts in 25 minutes! I don’t have time to apologize to Stern!”

“You can also do that after the show. He’s coming to the performance tonight with his boyfriends.” Melody says with a wink. The two had been texting a lot more lately, now that things had settled in the retired dancer’s life. He’s landed a job teaching at a fine arts school in the area, though he won't be teaching dance; Instead, he’ll be teaching a variety of languages.

Apollo scowls. “And you didn’t tell me this until now?”

“Of course! I knew if I did, you would over-analyze the situation to oblivion.”

“… you’re terrible.”

“You do not mean that. Can you make sure my hair pins are stuck? I don’t want one to fall out again mid-pirouette.”

Apollo stands and looms over Melody, deft fingers checking each jeweled pin. The woman finds her height to be frustrating at times; However, in moments like these, people consistently being taller than her makes her life so much easier. It gives her peace of mind for a moment.

“… are your girlfriends coming tonight?” Apollo asks as he checked the last pin. It warms Melody’s heart; besides speaking about Vincent, the pair never really speak much about romance. The ballerina didn’t want to highlight Apollo’s relationship status.

“No, they all had commitments. Luna has to work a bachelorette party, Darcy has to take her boyfriend to the airport and Kari has to close the café tonight.” Melody explains as the pair started to re-check their costumes.

The red head had long come to terms with her girlfriends’ busy schedules. All four of them are passionate about their careers and it makes seeing each other hard sometimes, but Melody knew that her girlfriends loved her more than anything. She just treasures the time they do spend together all the more.

Apollo is silent for a beat before nodding. “Well, I’m sure they’ll each make it to a performance eventually.”

Melody smiles warmly at him. “That’s very kind of you to say, my friend. I’m sure they will too.”

“Places in 20!” a stagehand calls in the hallway.

“We’d better get going.” Melody said. She brushed at Apollo’s magenta tunic, trying to remove some errant glitter from the costume. “Can’t be late to show off to Vincent now, can we?”

Apollo rolls his eyes, but the ballerina can tell he holds no real malice. The dancer is much more multifaceted than people gave him credit. There was someone in there that can do right by the people he cared about.

“Joseph, I promise, I don’t have an issue going to the performance. My silence towards my brother is my own decision.”

Stern sighs, trying to let familiar worry go. “Alright. I believe you. I just don’t want to put you in an awkward position.”

“I promise that you’re not.” Indrid says as Barclay locks up the car. Stern thinks his lanky boyfriend looks stunning in his all black suit, hints of silver accessories catching the light of the parking garage. It's menacing in the sexiest way possible.

“Y’all wanna grab any drink before the show?” Duck asks as he approaches the pair, giving them each a kiss on the cheek. He’s worn a dark green button up, brown slacks and a matching jacket. Stern hasn't seen Duck dressed up before and the moment he’d watched Duck step out of his apartment, Joseph wanted to shove the ranger back inside to show his appreciation where prying eyes couldn’t see.

“I’d prefer to save drinks until after the show. Rushing through a drink before a show and during intermission makes me far too anxious.” Stern says.

“Hey, makes totally sense to me.” Duck assures him as Barclay comes around to join the trio. Barclay has opted for a dark blue suit with copper accents. His longer hair is pulled into a neat ponytail, and Stern had every intention to tugging on it until the larger man was a wreck… after they made it home, of course.

“Alright, let’s head over. I’m sure they’ll start seating any minute.” Barclay says as all four men make their way to the elevator.

“Thank you again for arranging dinner reservations.” Joseph says, taking Barclay’s hand in his own. “I didn’t think I’d ever describe gnocchi as transcendent.”

Barclay laughs, “Well, I figured a good Italian meal would be fitting.”

“I’ll have to send Melody that way. She says she has difficulty finding a place that makes good Coda alla Vaccinara.”

“God it’s so hot when you pronounce Italian dishes correctly.” Barclay whispers in his ear as he adjusts Stern’s navy blue tie. Joseph opted for a dark grey suit, fitting for the ending of winter and the beginning of spring.

“Easy, big guy. We’ve got all night after the show.” Stern playfully warns as all four of them board the elevator.

The show is everything Stern thought it would be and more. He hasn't been to a performance since his injury, and he's surprised that there are no lingering feelings of grief or resentment. It's nice to watch his old colleagues excel in a performance he knows well. He had his small doubts when he heard that Apollo had been given the role of Romeo, but he trusted his old director.

In fact, what surprises Stern the most is Apollo’s performance. Not in its technical skill, Apollo had always been an extraordinary dancer. It's his acting that caught Joseph off-guard. Even from their seats in the mezzanine, Joseph can see Apollo’s deep wealth of expressions. Apollo looks vulnerable, love struck, and heart broken, all emotions that Stern believed to be completely foreign to the man.

The production goes off without a hitch, with Melody and Apollo dying dramatically and the crowd giving a standing ovation. Most of the audience in the performance hall leaves right after the show, but Stern and a few others stick around, looking to speak to the performers and the production crew. The ballet company is happy to see Joseph again, asking after his life and new career with genuine enthusiasm. It nearly makes Joseph cry, knowing all of these people still care about him when what he thought was most essential was gone.

Melody approaches Stern and his boyfriends after a bit, her baby blue dress flittering about as she bounces through the crowd. “Joseph, it is so good to see you!” She wraps her arms around him in a hug that squeezes the breath out of Joseph with her surprisingly strong arms

“You were outstanding, Melody, truly.” Joseph says after he's was allowed to breathe again.

“Grazie! It is a shame we never got to play opposite in the production, but it means the world to me that you came.” The ginger says.

Joseph introduces Melody to Duck, the only member of the polycule that she hasn't met before, and the five of them began to chat about the production itself. Barclay and Duck don't know all of the technical terms (Joseph is still teaching them and Indrid helps where he can) but they try their best to follow along. It makes Joseph’s heart feel light.

When Indrid stiffens, it immediately registers to Joseph. “What’s wrong?”

“Twin sense is tingling.” Indrid says and like magic, Apollo appears out of the crowd, still wearing his costume like Melody. Even this close, Stern can tell that something is different about the man.

He expects Apollo to approach him or Indrid first, ready to verbally spar like normal.

Apollo does something completely different.

The dancer taps Melody on the shoulder to get her attention.

She turns around and actually smiles at the man. “Apollo! You are here too early, I need to ask Joseph what he thought about the new costumes!” she laughs.

“I think you need to talk to some other people, actually.” Apollo says. The dancer gestures towards the other side of the lobby.

Both the current and former dancer looked to where he was gesturing and Melody let out a gasp. Joseph saw three different women.

One is tall and muscular with pale skin and black hair cut to a bob. The hairstyle beautifully frames her crystal blue eyes, full lips and many silver piercings. She wears a black dress that comes to the ground and meets in a halter top behind her neck. Her uncovered arms are covered in beautiful black and white tattoos.

Another is Indian with lithe and androgynous features. Her dark hair is already starting to gray, though that isn't as striking as the red eyepatch she wears. She's in a red gown, with a fitting bodice that goes up to her neck, leaving her arms bare as well. The dress flares lightly at the bottom, gold stitching shining in the light.

The last woman has the kind of figure that you would find on a pin-up model. Her dark, almond shaped eyes are striking with her long, black hair pulled back in a neat, high ponytail. Her dress is a hunter green, with a sharp, plunging neckline and the slit that goes all the way to the middle of her thigh. A multitude of gold earrings adorn both of her ears.

Joseph has no idea who they were, but Melody seemed to.

“But… but they told me they couldn’t make it…” Melody says softly, tears brimming her eyes.

“Kari texted me last week. They all wanted to surprise you without you worrying about performing for them.” Apollo tells her.

“You are such a ipocrita!” Melody shrieks with delight. She's grinning from ear to ear as she slaps at the man’s chest.

Joseph had no idea the two had grown so close since he’d left. It seemed tonight would be surprise after surprise.

“Sorry Joseph, I have to go.” And the tiny woman bolts towards the three women with reckless abandon. Joseph watches as Melody launched herself into the arms of the short haired woman, laughing and crying as all four of them embrace.

The men all look at Apollo for some kind of explanation.

“Those are Melody’s girlfriends. They wanted to surprise her tonight by all coming together.”

"Since when are you in the habit of orchestrating nice things for people?" Barclay keeps a wary eye on the dancer.

Apollo looks at Joseph, serious as ever; However, Joseph can't find the familiar violence in Apollo’s gaze. “I’d like to have a word with you, Stern. Privately.”

Before Stern can answer, Indrid holds his shoulder protectively. “Whatever you have to say to Joseph, you can say in front of all of us.” He says firmly. Joseph knows that those are the first words Indrid had spoken to Apollo in months. All to protect him…

Apollo opens his mouth to snipe back at Indrid on reflex, but Joseph puts a hand on Indrid’s and squeezes. “I’ll be alright, Indrid. Why don’t the three of you grab some drinks? I’ll meet you at the lobby bar in a moment.”

His three boyfriends give each other looks, but they do not argue as they bid Joseph a temporary goodbye and leave. Though not before giving Apollo a dirty look each.

Joseph looks at Apollo, but the blonde man is already leading the way to a reclusive nook in the lobby. Stern follows him, wondering what this was all about.

Once the two have relative privacy, Apollo looks at Stern for a long moment.

“I… I wanted to… apologize.”

“You wanted to what?” Joseph asks reflexively.

Apollo huffs and gives a tiny snarl. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”

“You’ll forgive me if I am.”

“Quit making this difficult for me, I’ve been practicing for weeks.”

“Weeks?”

“Shut up! I…” Apollo takes a deep breath and seems to center himself. “I’m sorry, for what I said to you at your going away party. It was… unnecessarily cruel. I can’t… I can’t begin to think of what I would do if something like that happened to me.” The man clenches his hands together in a very uncharacteristic fashion. Is he trying to stop himself from fidgeting?

“No, I don’t suppose you’d know what it’s like to fail.” Joseph snipes. He felt like he’d earned that.

“I don’t.” Apollo answers. “… except to you.”

“Apollo, are you having a stroke?”

“I am simply being factual.” Apollo snaps back. “There have been roles that I lost to you. Only ever to you. I thought for the longest time that the director would choose you over me to keep me from becoming complacent in the company. I have… come to realize that they were simply making casting decisions based on who they believed would be best suited to each role… and sometimes that was you and not me. Now there’s no challenge in the company, now that you’re gone…”

“… are you saying that you miss me?”

“You won’t get that lucky. But I should have, at the very least, left you alone at your party. I shouldn’t have said what I did and I am sorry.”

Joseph is silent for a beat, processing this strange turn of events. “… I forgive you, Apollo.”

Apollo nods with the expression of a man who’d finally completed a long-dreaded chore. “Good. I think it was a well-crafted apology.”

“Melody helped you, didn’t she?”

“That is irrelevant.”

Joseph actually laughs at that. It's an honest laugh that also seems to baffle Apollo. “I’m glad that you’re making more friends in the company. Genuinely.”

Apollo crosses his arms and looks away, seemingly unsure of what to do with this new dynamic. “… I hear you’re a teacher now. Melody wouldn’t shut up about it when she got the news.” He's was clearly trying to keep his walls up, but Joseph is starting to see through the cracks.

“I am. I’m really excited about it, actually.”

“Well… you always did well with the children during our productions involving them, so I can’t say I’m entirely surprised.” Apollo huffs. “I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“Thank you, Apollo… I have to say, I was completely enamored with your performance tonight.”

Apollo looks at him, the praise grabbing his attention instantly.

“You’ve developed as an actor and I think that new skill will help you get any role you want now.”

“… thank you, Joseph.” The younger man says with an obvious bit of effort.

“I look forward to seeing your next production.” He holds out his hand out for Apollo to shake. The blonde takes it without delay.

“Have a good night, Apollo.”

“You as well, Joseph… keep an eye on my brother.” He says before walking away quickly.

Stern can't help but laugh once more. The dancer was trying his best, it was plain to see.

The retired dancer is very hopeful for his future.

Apollo walks towards the bar, still reeling from his conversation with his former colleague. He can't believe the conversation had gone so off script once the apology was out of the way! Apollo can't parse why he’d acted in such an embarrassing fashion. The young blonde refuses to acknowledge the sense of relief and closure he feels after the conversation.

As he waits in line, eyeing the bellini he so desperately craves, a familiar hand touches his waist. He stops himself from spinning around as if he was in the middle of a solo routine, and instead slowly turned to face Vincent. He looks so dashing in his lavender suit, Apollo could weep.

“Hello Apollo.” The older man says kindly.

“Hi…” is all Apollo could manage. He wants to throttle himself for getting so tongue tied at the most critical moment!

“Melody said I should come and speak to you. I didn’t expect you to be speaking to Joseph when I went looking for you.”

Apollo will have to thank Melody profusely later. His friend has set up a situation where he could not only talk to Vincent, but also set things up to make him look his best. Vincent was able to observe that Apollo was genuinely apologizing to Stern. He was surprised he didn’t think of it himself.

“I nearly stepped in, but I noticed that you two were speaking civilly with each other.”

“Yes, I was apologizing to Stern for the last time we spoke.”

“I see… that was very good of you, Apollo.” Vincent said as they both took a step forward in line. “I’m proud of you.”

Apollo could die right here at those words. He wants to continue this line of conversation, but it also frightens him immensely.

He decides to delay the possible rejection. “What did you think of the performance?”

Vincent smiled. “It was my favorite rendition of Romeo and Juliet yet. You played a big part in that assessment.”

Apollo tries to mask how much that means to him. He fails utterly. “Really?”

Vincent nods. “You brought a real authenticity to the role. I’ve never seen you like that when you perform. You had such…. Longing and desperation in your performance. It was utterly captivating.”

Apollo makes a decision: He is going all in. He will either be lovingly swept away on the current of Vincent’s love or drown in his rejection. He can't wait for the outcome any longer.

“It’s easy to perform that way… when you have a lot of real-life inspiration.”

Vincent lightly touches his hand and Apollo’s own hand caught it at once. He can't help it, he needs to touch Vincent. It's an ache in his chest he can't ignore anymore.

“I have missed you, Apollo.” Vincent whispers to him. “I will admit, I still have doubts about dating a performer-“

“I swear to you, Vincent, you can’t pressure me into doing anything that I don’t want to do.” Apollo says firmly, hoping that Vincent believes him this time.

“… no, I suppose I couldn’t.” The older man chuckles and squeezes Apollo’s hand. “You young bucks are so strong willed. A man like me couldn’t make you kneel for anything.”

“I’d do it willingly.” Apollo’s treacherous mouth answers before he can stop it.

Instead of the rebuke that Apollo feared he would receive, Vincent’s eyes light up with a hunger the younger man had only seen when he’d performed a spread eagle in the older man’s apartment. Vincent leans in to whisper in his ear. “Care to demonstrate that obedience at my apartment?”

Apollo shivers his heart racing at Vincent’s warm but commanding tone. “I’d like that very much.”

“Two bellinis, please.” Vincent orders for the both of them. Apollo didn’t think he could fall in love more, simply by Vincent knowing what he’d like to drink without asking. Apollo would find, over the course of their long relationship, that Vincent would make him fall in love again and again.

“Man, what are the odds that your friend is in the sapphic equivalent of our relationship?” Barclay asked Stern as he drove all of them back to his and Indrid’s apartment.

Joseph looked over from the shotgun seat, lightly buzzed from cocktails at the performance hall. “She’d always mentioned her beloveds, I just didn’t realize she had three. Maybe I should ask her for advice if I start to get nervous…”

“I think that would be a marvelous idea.” Indrid says with a tipsy smile from the back. “You don’t have to keep all of your worries to yourself anymore, pet. You have plenty of people who love you.”

“Thank you, Indrid.” Joseph said. He reaches for Indrid in the back, the pair holding hands for a moment. “Are you going to text Apollo any time soon?”

“The next time I see a meme that would irk him, I will.” Indrid giggles.

“No genuine signs of affection for either of you, huh?” Duck asks with a smirk.

“Never. If we did start speaking to each other with any sort of authenticity, I think we would both burst into flames.”

All four of them laugh at that.

The polycule eases into chatter about the next few weeks to come, figuring out dates and obligations for them to tackle as a unit. They’ll need to go over it all again when all four of them were sober (Barclay having stuck to Italian soda), but Joseph is buoyed by the excitement of it all. He hopes as they all built a life together, full of challenges and victories, strife and love.

Joseph stands in the spotlight on an empty stage. All of the seats in the audience are filled with a waiting crowd, the air electric with their anticipation. This time, however, Joseph feels no fear or apprehension. For in the center of the audience, right in the front row, are three men he can’t possibly live without. As he begins to dance like he used to, he feels weightless and graceful. With his lovers watching him, admiring him, he thinks that he can reach the sky with his leaps if he wants to. The sky isn’t where his heart is, though.

He begins to pirouette, and this time, with each rotation, the trio gets closer and closer, the crowd falling away, until there is no one left but Indrid, Barclay and Duck, standing before him, waiting for him with loving and proud smiles.

He stumbles on the last turn, but that doesn’t matter. Three pairs of hands reach out to catch him, so he can finish with a pose that mirrors a proud crane, tall and regal. He can stand like that now, with his triad behind him, supporting him. He can fly now, because he knows someone will catch him if he falls.