Practice Makes Perfect Series:
Dancing Dirty: Ballet Boys
Zoe Perdita
Practice Makes Perfect Series:
Dancing Dirty: Ballet Boys
Zoe Perdita
Copyright 2012 by Zoe Perdita
Published by Smashwords
Cover Art:
© Can Stock Photo Inc. /Ostill
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All characters in this book are fictional and are not based on any real people. They are figments of the author’s imagination.
Pasha stood at the bar, his left hand gripping onto it as he raised his right leg into the proper stretches and gestures. His dirty blond hair was mussed, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it before coming to practice, and his bare chest showed the slightest sheen of sweat. The black footless dance tights showed off each curve and bulge of his genitals, proving he went without his dance belt that day.
Martin stepped from his place in the doorway, watching the handsome young Russian as he started his own series of stretches.
“Oh, I thought I would be alone today,” Pasha said when he noticed the other dancer in the room.
Martin shrugged. Most of the company was gone for the week, but he had to practice everyday and didn’t have the means in his own home to do so. Plus, he knew Pasha would be there and any chance to see the master at work was worth it. Even if Pasha stole all the parts in the ballets that Martin wanted to play.
Pasha switched hands when he was done with his right leg gestures, and Martin joined him at the bar. The smooth wooden handle dug into his hand as he watched Pasha raise his left leg and lower it, the curve of his ass smooth under the tight material.
“Who do you want to play in La Sylphide?” Pashas asked as he reached forward to touch his toes with practiced ease.
Martin moved his feet into third position. “James,” he answered, although he knew Pasha would get the part instead of him. Pasha always played the lead.
“I think you would be good at it,” he said and turned around. Long brown lashes framed his green eyes, and his slightly crooked nose gave his handsome face an air of character it would be missing otherwise.
Martin nodded and turned his back on the other man. Always nice and polite. It was infuriating to have someone so perfect be so blasé about it.
“We can practice the dance, if you want?” Pasha said when Martin finished with the bar. The other man was already performing random relevé’s around the room.
Martin felt the heat rise to his cheeks. His own body was shorter and more compact than the Russian, who stood at least three inches taller and had a lean muscular frame. Martin had the muscle to dance, and was more than strong enough to presage any of the female dancers several times during their performances, but his plain brown hair and eyes didn’t give him the same good looking prestige Pasha had.
“Are you going to dance the lady’s part?” Martin asked as he lifted his leg into an arabesque.
Pasha chuckled, his green eyes glittering under the lights. “If you wish. Can you lift me?”
Martin’s cheeks burned, and he glared at the other man. “Why couldn’t I?”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t, I only asked if you could,” Pasha said and stepped close to him. The taller man smelled of sweat and soap. “Try the lift on me here.”
Martin positioned himself behind Pasha and dug his fingers into the slender waist. The muscles under the flesh were firmer and flatter than that of the female dancers, and the feeling of Pasha’s slick skin combined with his manly scent made Martin’s body tingle.
Bracing his feet on the floor, he lifted with all his strength. Pasha held still, stiff in his hands, but the weight was more than that of the petite women. After only a moment, Martin’s arms wobbled and his legs buckled beneath him. Then, Pasha’s skin slipped out of his hands and they both tumbled onto the floor.
“Are you injured?” Pasha asked urgently, touching Martin’s legs and arms in search of some kind of trauma.
Martin shook out his arms and glared at the other man. “No. I’m fine.”
Pasha nodded, the look of concern giving way to a smile. “I’m heavier than I look.”
Martin wanted to scowl and cross his arms, but Pasha was sitting so close to him, the other man’s hardness pressed into his thigh, that his mind wasn’t working correctly. Then it hit him. Pasha had an erection and it was pressed into his thigh.
He’d had fantasies about this moment, but Martin never thought they would come true. The other man still smiled at him, the steady beating of his cock pressing into Martin’s muscular leg- taunting him to make a move. If he jumped up and ran away he might never get another chance like this.
Sweat beaded on Martin’s back, the dust on the floor gritty beneath his hands. Pasha might be heavier than he looked, but Martin was stronger. With one swift move he pushed his lips into Pasha’s, forcing the other man back onto the black floor.
To Martin’s surprise, Pasha didn’t fight him off. Instead, his lips gave in to the forceful kiss, parting to let Martin’s tongue probe his mouth. The intensity of the kiss seeped into his veins, filling up his cock with heat. Hands groped at his back and butt, running over the smooth muscles and scratching at the skin.
Pulling back, Martin licked Pasha’s full lips, the man’s mouth open and panting, his eyes clouded with need. A surge of lust rose up over Martin’s skin. He had power over Pasha, the perfect dancer. He ran his fingers over the man’s chest, digging his nails into the smooth, hairless skin, and leaned down to suckle on Pasha’s brown nipple.
Pasha moaned, a throaty sound, as Martin took the tender flesh between his teeth played the tip with his tongue, pulling at intervals to illicit a raw whimper from the man beneath him. Martin’s skin tingled with excitement, his cock now bulging out of his thin dance tights. He needed more of Pasha, and he was pretty sure the man would do just about anything he asked.
To test his theory, Martin sat back and pulled off the clingy black material while Pasha sat up and watched him. He made a move to get up, but Martin shoved him back down, leaning over the taller man. “No. Stay where you are. I have something for you.”
Pasha trembled under Martin’s hands, his chest heaving and his heart pounding in time with the throbbing in Martin’s cock. Straddling his lean chest, Martin moved up toward Pasha’s mouth, already open and ready.
The Russian’s tongue danced over the tip of Martin’s weeping cock before he took it full on into his mouth, swallowing it whole in one take. Martin had to admit he wasn’t huge, although he assumed it was just slightly larger than average. But no matter how big it was, Pasha sucked it like he was trying to get the last drop of water from a stone.
Martin gasped, watching the other dancer’s head in rapt fascination. The welcome warmth of his mouth shot charges of electricity through Martin’s body, and he thrust his hips into Pasha’s willing entrance. The climax came over him as more of a surprise than anything, and one that he wasn’t all together happy to get. But the Russian man’s throat contracted around him- squeezed every drop of come down his throat before he finally relinquished his hold.
Martin leaned back, frowning, and stared at Pasha.
“You liked it?” the Russian dancer asked, wiping his lip.
The sting on Martin’s hand and the red stain on Pasha’s cheek told him what he’d done before his brain had time to process it. “I wanted to fuck you.”
Pasha raised a hand to his cheek, but far from looking shocked or hurt, he smiled. “You think you can fuck me, little dancer?”
Martin’s raised his hand again, but stopped before he hit the other man. Pasha was playing with him. This was some kind of game. If that was the case, Martin was going to win for once. “Yeah, I will.”
Pasha chuckled and pushed Martin from his chest, the sudden movement knocking the smaller man off balance long enough for the Russian to get up.
Martin frowned and groped at Pasha’s legs as he tried to run away, tackling him to the ground just as the man got to his bag, and ripping at the tights over his legs. The material stretched then gave, the loud screech of the rip running through the empty dance studio.
Pasha wrestled with him as Martin pulled them off, grabbing at the disintegrating material until Pasha’s ass and cock stood exposed to the world.
Suddenly, the Russian rolled on top, his heavy body holding Martin down and the grit of the floor digging into his back and butt. “Maybe I will fuck you,” Pasha whispered in his ear as he pulled a bottle of lube from his bag.
Martin opened his mouth to ask why the man carried lube in his bag, but Pasha’s lips collided with his before he could speak, the sweetness of his mouth engulfing any words Martin tried to say. Then, a slick finger probed into the depths between Martin’s cheeks. The sting of it made Martin’s muscles contract, and he pulled his mouth away from the kiss.
Pasha smiled at him, pushing his finger farther into Martin’s ass and suckling the sensitive skin of his neck.
His body ached to give in, to let Pasha fuck him from here to eternity, but the stubborn side of Martin’s personality won out. As Pasha moved his finger in and out, easing the opening for his cock, Martin’s own erection throbbed and grew to its former glory. In a swift movement, he caught Pasha by surprise and rolled him over, straddling the Russian man’s well-rounded ass.
Martin’s breath came in heavy pants as he grabbed the bottle of lube and poured the slick substance over his fingers. The man beneath him wiggled slightly, his ass moving in gentle waves as if he was trying to entice Martin inside.
A quick slap to the ass brought a gasp from Pasha. “My cock is digging into the ground,” he said, his cheek lying against the floor and a smile on his face.
Martin almost chuckled, but stopped himself since he was still supposed to be angry. Leaning back, he pulled Pasha up by the hips to give the man some release and provide better access for himself.
The first finger found resistance at the entrance, although he heard Pasha steady his breathing, his muscles going limp as his body, covered in a sheen of sweat, relaxed. The tightness squeezed him as he moved his finger in and out, wondering what it would feel like around his cock. Slowly, Pasha moved his hips in time with Martin’s penetration, a moan escaping his lips.
The second and third finger slipped in easily, and Martin barely had to move his hand Pasha was rocking back on them so hard. His face was tilted so the smaller man had a good look at it, his eyes closed and whole being lost in the moment. Just watching him made Martin’s cock pound with anticipation.
As he removed his fingers Pasha gasped and opened his eyes, clouded over with lust. Martin started into those green depths as he applied a liberal amount of lube to his dick and pressed the head in between the Russian’s cheeks.
Pasha’s mouth and eyes both opened wide, but he nudged his bottom back as Martin pushed himself forward, the entrance swallowing him alive. Each new gain in depth sent feverish waves coursing across Martin’s skin, making him want more of Pasha. Buried to the hilt, he leaned forward and kissed the man’s back, taking in the smell of lust that emanated from the other man. Slowly, he pumped his cock in and out until Pasha got used to the feeling. They moved together, as one, like they were performing the perfect pas de deux.
Martin’s anger faded away and he groped for Pasha’s dick, taking the length in his hands and pumping it in time with his thrusts. In his mind, they moved onto an allegro step, and Pasha pushed back into him faster as Martin jerked him, their breathing and grunts the rhythm they danced to.
The climax came more slowly this time, building intensity with each thrust- each breath. Sweat dripped from their skin as the pressure grew inside Martin’s groin, each plunge driving him closer to the edge.
When Pasha shuddered under him, the wetness leaking from the tip of his spent cock, Martin gripped onto the other man’s hips, burying himself as deep as he could get into the man trembling and moaning beneath him. His body shook as he finally emptied himself into Pasha, and collapsed on top of the taller man, both of them gasping for breath as the shocks of pleasure ran over their bodies.
After a few minutes, Pasha wiggled around Martin who was still submerged inside of him.
Martin kissed the man’s shoulder, but didn’t move. “I thought you were dating Arina?” he said slowly.
Pasha turned his head and wrinkled his nose in the way he did when was confused about something. “Arina? Because she’s also Russian?”
“You’re always talking to her.”
“She is easier to understand because we speak the same language. I have a hard time with Americans who speak so fast.”
Martin nodded. After studying ballet in France he knew what Pasha meant.
“But you don’t speak much with your mouth, only your eyes.”
Martin pulled himself out of Pasha’s ass and looked at the gorgeous man spread on the floor beneath him. “What do my eyes say?”
Pasha smiled as he turned over and leaned forward, kissing Martin gently. “They say you like me.”
Martin’s lips melted into the Pasha’s, though his brain fought for some kind of defense against the accusation.
“I like you too,” Pasha said when he pulled away, his eyes dancing.
Martin hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Practice tomorrow?” he asked, trying to get the conversation back to a subject he was comfortable with.
Pasha stood up and offered Martin a hand, lifting him off the floor. “Yes. And dinner afterwards. What you American’s call a date.”
Before he could answer, Pasha walked out of the room with his bag slung over his shoulder. Chasing after him didn’t seem like an option considering he was still naked. So Martin pulled on his tights and wondered what he should wear the next day.
About the Author:
Zoe Perdita lives in the Pacific Northwest and writes erotica as a means of escape from a ho-hum everyday sort of life. She enjoys writing about male/male relationships in all situations including contemporary, historical and fantasy/sci-fi. A lot of her erotica contains BDSM elements for reasons she can’t explain. You can read her blog Zoe Perdita’s Eccentric Erotica at http://zoeperdita.blogspot.com/.
Visit her on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100003485203540.
Email her at ZoePerdita@gmail.com.
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