Duende (4 page)

"All right, this is a simple dance. It's the first one I ever learned." Badri came to stand next to, and a little behind, Aimé. "Loosen your knees and elbows, bend your arms and legs a little bit. Now roll forward just a little onto your toes like this." Badri demonstrated while Aimé tried to copy the easy, fluid motion. "Here." Badri's hand settled, large and warm, on the small of Aimé's back, guiding his movements. "Like that, and now back onto your heels. All your foot motions will be about keeping your knees soft and slightly bent, and shifting from toe to heel, heel to toe."

"I can't—"

"You can." Badri smiled at him. "You said you boxed, so you know how to use your body. Come now, it's easy. Just let yourself relax and move. Just like this."

Aimé tried again. He felt a little ridiculous, but also excited, and almost giddy, to be so close to Badri. Even though he was sure he was doing it horribly wrong, with Badri's hand on his back just above the curve of his backside, he didn't care.

Both of Badri's hands slid to his hips. "Knees soft," Badri reminded him.

Truthfully, Aimé's knees were starting to feel a little weak, especially when Badri pressed up close, his front hot against Aimé's back, turning their bodies both sideways.

"All right, we are going to move now. Stay on your toes, knees just like that. And go—" Badri let go of him to move across the sitting room, knees very slightly bent, light on his toes, making it seem ungodly easy, when Aimé suspected it was actually incredibly hard.

"And that's without the arms." Badri turned back to him with a wide smile. "But we can worry about them later. Now you try."

It was, as Aimé had suspected, far, far harder than Badri made it appear.

"No, like you are stamping." Badri slid back behind him again, hands once more at Aimé's waist. "But don't put your foot down as hard."

"I will never be able to do this." Aimé tried it again anyway, and found himself giggling at how ridiculous he must look. "I swear I'm making you learn to sing at least one choir piece after this."

"Stamp," Badri ordered, but Aimé didn't have to see him to hear the smile.

Aimé stamped and Badri burst out laughing as well. Turning slightly in Badri's arms, Aimé craned his neck to peer at him. Badri smiled down at him, and Aimé turned more fully and leaned up.

Badri looked surprised for a brief moment, but he still bent his head to meet Aimé's halfway in a kiss. Badri's lips were so warm and soft, and his mouth tasted of wine and the rich sauces they'd had for dinner. Aimé's eyes slid shut and he made a soft noise of want, pressing close as Badri's arms came around him. Badri's body, flush against his, was hard under fine cloth, and Badri's own hands roamed up and down Aimé's back, and cupping the swell of his backside, pulled their hips flush.

Aimé ate at Badri's mouth with teeth and tongue until Badri groaned a deep, rumbling sound into Aimé's mouth.

They broke apart as Aimé's back hit the wall. Badri laced their fingers together and pressed their joined hands against the wall above Aimé's head, thrusting their hips together. Badri's cock was a long, hard bulge in his breeches that rubbed against Aimé's equally-hard length. Head falling back against the wall, Aimé struggled to breathe.

It didn't take long. Badri ground his hips in a slow circle against Aimé's, mouth meeting Aimé's with enough force to bruise, and grunted as he came. The warm wetness of Badri's release seeping through his breeches was enough to push Aimé over the edge.

The touch of their lips this time was slow and gentle, before Badri pulling away and looking down with obvious dismay at his ruined clothes. Not for the first time, Aimé was glad his body no longer produced seed for him to soil his clothes with. Badri's breeches were a mess, though.

"I had not intended that to happen when I asked you to come to dinner," Badri said, sounding earnest and slightly worried, and Aimé laughed.

"I don't mind." He stepped forward again to kiss Badri. "I enjoyed it. Very much."

"I'm glad." Badri seemed to hesitate, though. "Would you like to spend the night? I have a very nice guest room, or…"

"I can't." Aimé hated to say it, but it was true. He had to be up before dawn to travel to Count de Fézensac's estate. "I have practice and then rehearsal tomorrow."

"It's all right, I more than understand." Badri seemed disappointed nonetheless, and Aimé reached for his hand.

"Next Saturday, if you are free, I would love it if you could accompany me to a boxing match."

Badri nodded. "I would love to."    

"All right then, until Saturday." Aimé leaned up for a quick kiss that turned deep and urgent once Badri's arms went around him again.

In the carriage, after they had said their farewells one last time, Aimé could not stop smiling.

*~*~* 

Badri gazed out the carriage window without really seeing the darkening streets outside. The memory of Aimé's body pressed against his as they danced and the way Aimé had felt in his arms as he shuddered and came played on slow repeat. Badri swallowed and willed himself not to get hard.

Breeches hid almost nothing, and he would need to be out in public soon. Had they moved too fast, Badri wondered for the thousandth time? He hadn't meant for them to end up having sex when he'd invited Aimé over. It had just happened, and it felt right at the time. More than right, but maybe Aimé would come to regret it.

He shook his head, trying to dispel such thoughts.

The carriage stopped in front of a tavern that, while not the most disreputable one Badri had ever seen, was not of high repute by any stretch of the imagination. Feeling wary and out of place, he climbed out.

"Badri!"

A wave of relief hit him as he turned to see Aimé. He was flanked by a tall, dark-skinned woman that Badri recognized as Commander Adewuyi, head of the capital's police force, on one side, and a huge, intimidating bear of a man with a shaved head and a heavily-scarred face on the other. All three of them were dressed in plain, civilian clothes. Badri felt suddenly a little overdressed in his fine burgundy jacket.

"Commander Collette Adewuyi," Aimé said, "and her second in command,
Jérémie Ouakili."

"I am glad to finally meet you." Commander Adewuyi grinned at him. She had one of the firmest handshakes he'd ever encountered.

"We should get moving if we are to get a good view of the fight," Ouakili said, and Aimé nodded.

"Come on." He linked his arm with Badri's and led the way down a flight of stone steps next to the tavern. The steps led to a door that Aimé knocked on.

Another huge man opened the door. He looked their group up and down before nodding and letting them in.

"This is legal, right?" Badri asked Aimé, keeping his voice low, and glanced at Adewuyi and Ouakili.

Aimé laughed. "Oh, yes," he said, "just low-class."

Badri blushed to realize he hadn't thought of that. All his life, he'd taken his place within the aristocracy, both of the empire and his mother's country, for granted.

Glancing around the low-ceilinged, dimly-lit room, he noticed that most of the men and women there seemed to be of the middling class merchants and craftsmen.

The center of the room had been sunken in to make a pit of sorts with a packed-earth floor. It wasn't particularly deep: even a man as short as Aimé could easily climb out. It did give everyone standing above a good view of the proceedings. The room around the ring was already crowded, and Badri pressed close against Aimé to keep from being lost in the press of bodies.

"Do you want a drink?" Aimé asked, his hand resting lightly on Badri's elbow. "They only serve hard liquor here, but I can get you a glass if you want."

"No, it's all right." Badri pressed back into Aimé's grip.

A roar started towards the far edges of the crowd, moving in, and Badri craned his neck to watch as a door at the far end of the room opened. The crowd parted to let a group through.

Two men jumped down to the pit. Both of them were large, broad-shouldered, heavily-muscled men in their shirtsleeves. One, younger and with moon-pale skin, carried himself like a soldier, and when they both stripped off their waistcoats and shirts, Badri saw he had the scars to match. The other was just as big: heavyset with a rounded belly, gray hair cut short to his head and features that made Badri think his parentage was from even further east than his own.

"Who are you betting on?" Aimé asked Adewuyi, who was standing on his other side.

"Kakahara." Adewuyi said with a sly grin and a sideways look at Ouakili. "Jérémie would never forgive me if I didn't support his favorite."

Both of the fighters were wrapping their hands and wrists now with long bandages.

Badri could feel the excitement and anticipation growing tight in his belly, like just before he went on stage. Aimé gripped Badri's arm, his whole body radiating excitement as well. It made a little bit of arousal mix with the anticipation in Badri's gut, and warmth settled between his legs.

Both men faced each other, and the volume of the crowd rose with excitement. The fighters fell into a wide-legged stance that was reminiscent to Badri of certain dance positions or fencing forms. They circled each other while Aimé gripped Badri's arm tightly and practically vibrated in place.

"He's going to—" Aimé muttered just loud enough for Badri to hear, and the younger soldier was lunging, swinging a punch, and the older, wider man Adewuyi had called Kakahara had his arms up to block. Then Kakahara threw a punch, and the crowd cheered and roared as it hit home, snapping the other's head back. Badri winced, but could not help admiring the way both fighters danced out of each other's way almost immediately.

Aimé leaned heavily into Badri's side, gaze fixed on the ring, body taut and almost shaking. Badri found it very hard to keep his mind on the fighting, found it very hard to breathe. He stared down at Aimé and admired the look of rapt concentration on his face. Aimé was alternating between biting at his lower lip and muttering under his breath as he watched the fight.

Badri wanted to lean forward, to suck that plump lower lip into his mouth, and bite at it, too. Hell, he wanted to get down on his knees and suck Aimé off right then and there with the whole crowd watching. He wanted to run his fingers back between Aimé's legs while he sucked his cock, press a fingertip against Aimé's sweet hole, hear him groan and curse.

He'd never seen Aimé naked, never touched his cock nor used his hands to make Aimé come. He found himself hot and flushed, panting with the desire for it now.

The crowd pressed in on all sides, forcing Aimé to lean in even closer. Badri let his arm fall around Aimé's waist, keeping him close and holding him tight.

He didn't remember who won the fight, only being tugged out into the cool night air by Aimé, who seemed incredibly pleased with himself.

All around them, people were chatting, loud and happy as they dispersed into the night.

"Did you like it?" Aimé looked up at him, slightly rumpled and grinning. Once again, Badri's breath caught.

"Yes."

"Good." Aimé kissed him quickly on the lips. "So did I."

Badri's couldn't help but press his mouth to Aimé's again, hotter and deeper than he should have for such a public place. Aimé was laughing, though, when he broke away, pushing Badri a little bit away. "Go on, then, back to your bed." Aimé was still grinning. "I have a performance tomorrow."

He really did not want to leave, but Aimé needed his sleep. "All right."

"I will see you soon." Aimé pressed against him for a moment longer, and then turned away to find his carriage.

After a moment of watching him, Badri turned to find his.

Once more settled in his carriage, Badri drummed his fingers against his knee, mind filled with thoughts of Aimé. Perhaps tomorrow he could forgo a little practice and do something else instead. In fact, tomorrow would be a good day to see an opera.

*~*~*                       

Aimé stood in the center of the stage as it glittered under Sushil's new lights. The stage was set to look like a frozen lake lined with frosted trees. Everything was silver, the lights imitating moonlight beautifully. The silver trim on Aimé's black jacket, waistcoat, and breeches made him also seem as if he'd been outlined in frost.

Aimé sang of solitude, of loneliness and lost love. He was the one left behind as the lovers perished in each other's arms, the one who would go on alone.

His voice took Badri's breath away, higher than any man's, but with a deep resonance that many women found hard to attain.

Aimé held out his hands, his voice soaring to the ceiling.

His last notes died away and the curtains closed, the audience rising and applauding.

Badri picked up the bouquet he'd brought as the lamps within the body of the theatre began to be lit again. He headed backstage.

There was quite a large crowd in front of Aimé's room when he got there, so instead, Badri turned and began scoping out the exits, trying to decide which Aimé would most likely use once he was finished.

The exit he chose led out into a narrow alley, but it was only a few paces to the street where a carriage could be pulled up. Badri leaned against one stone wall and closed his eyes, letting the night air cool him from the heat of the opera house.

Minutes dragged by, twenty and then longer.

Badri began to fear he'd chosen wrong or Aimé had been cornered by someone and could not get away. That was likely, as so many members of court treated people like him and Aimé as if they were pet dogs. Either that or the courtier was pressing him for sexual favors. Badri felt his mouth turn down in disgust. He wondered if Aimé was ever propositioned—probably. Badri could not stop the spike of jealousy that went through him at the thought.

"What are you doing here?"

Badri jumped and turned to see Aimé staring at him, having just come out of the opera house.

"I was waiting for you." Badri held out the flowers. "It was a beautiful performance."

"Thank you." Aimé reached for the bouquet. He was not quite smiling, but he seemed pleased, and Badri relaxed a fraction.