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“Merry Christmas, Felix.” “Fuck you, Savini.”
But could I? At some point, be in love with that hot, talented, arrogant, nerdy, quiet Italian-American prick?
pretending I don’t want to jump on Nico Savini’s cock every second of the day is about to be the greatest role I’ve ever done.
Me: Merry Christmas, fuckface I don’t have to wait long. Fuckface: We say ‘Buon Natale, fuckface’ here.
Me: Do planes fly on Christmas Day? ;) Fuckface: no idea
Oh my god
What I’m not expecting to see when I pull open the door is a slightly blurry 6 foot 2 ballerino who should be in fucking Naples.
OH MY GOD
He seems to remember something and lifts the notepad so he’s holding it in front of his chest. It’s one of those A4 lined spiral ones which flip open.
HE IS NOT GOING TO DO THE LOVE, ACTUALLY THING?
Turns out, planes do fly on Christmas Day
HE'S DOING THE FUCKING LOVE, ACTUALLY THING
And I couldn’t live with being
The worst sexting experience of your life But I think maybe Texting isn’t my medium
So, when you asked what I’d do if I was here with you…
“Also, I didn’t like the idea of you alone.” I frown at this, even though it makes my chest feel strange. “Why not?” “Because you shouldn’t be. Not you.”
“You know I’m always up for it, but it’s just that I ate almost a whole duck, and then half a cheese board, and about a ton of celebrations and there’s no fucking way I can put any more solids inside me tonight.”
I felt surprisingly little guilt about leaving my family on Christmas to fly into Felix’s arms. It’s a choice I’d make over and over again given the opportunity.
In dance, in form, in my deepest desires: he’s the archetype of perfection.
I’m also starting to sicken myself a little with the extent of worship I’m capable of levelling on someone who may or may not still hate me.
“Did you seriously make me breakfast in bed?” “I was pretty unserious about it, honestly.”
I’ve no fucking idea how I’m going to get through fourteen-hour days without pinning him down and fucking him raw on the rehearsal room floor.
halfway through the night, I’d lied and told Ava I was going to Christian’s and gone to Nico’s instead.
I groan at myself because it’s getting fucking ridiculous how all the things I used to hate about him are now turn-ons.
I want him to fuck me rough and hard until I don’t know my own name anymore, right here in this fucking studio.
I knew they'd immediately break that rule lmao
When he pulls back from my mouth and spits into it, I almost come right there.
“You said never on the premises,” he says between kisses. “It was your rule, remember?” “I like breaking the rules every now and then.”
Felix swallows my dick along with every thought inside my head.
I wonder how this is the same person who not five minutes ago wanted to slice open my throat.
He’s more complicated than I ever considered, ever gave him credit for. And tonight, I finally saw in him something he’s tried so hard to hide from everyone: He’s scared.
“Violent little bitch tonight, aren’t we?” I growl in his ear. He pushes his ass out, flattens his cheek against the mirror, and all but spits as he says, “So fuck me like one then.”
“I fucking loathe you,” he says. I thrust. He gasps. “I hate… everything… about… you.”
“Yeah, I hate you, too, princess. So fucking much.”
“Look at your face when I come inside you, look how much you love being filled up.” I kiss his neck as I thrust, watching his eyes watch me and then himself. “So fucking beautiful…” I tell him. “Look at you…”
“Nico,” he pants. “I’m gonna shoot… Nico.” “Yeah? Let me see it, that’s it, beautiful.”
I’m so fucking in love with him I feel it like an avalanche pouring over me.
“I’m on PrEP by the way.” I feel very stupid suddenly. “I’m not… but I’ve never. Without a condom. I haven’t ever.” He gasps. “Wow, I’m your first? Christ, you really love me, don’t you?” You really have no fucking idea.
“You’re the best, Felix.” “Are you trying to fuck me again, because you really don’t have to go this hard, Savini. I’m a sure thing. You know that by now.”
You. You were the reason. You’ve always been the reason.
He hit me for the first time when I was fourteen, and he did so every day for the next four years. I never made mistakes because the consequences were painful and humiliating and would take days to fade.
every time someone tells me how great I am, it feels like he’s there, watching, and saying: ‘You see, it was worth it. Everything I did was to make you great. And you are great because of me.’”
I’m on your side.” I’ve had no one on mine, ever. I don’t want him to feel that way.
this character, this role, it was made for you. A golden asshole demigod with an attitude problem? I mean come on, princess.”
“But I’m not your enemy or your rival. I want to be your…” I want to be your everything. “…friend.”
“I think you just told me you like me a lot but that you’re breaking up with me anyway. Is that it?”
Sergio fucking Cina who I wanted to exhume, piss on, and stomp into dust.
I want you to want me the way I can’t seem to stop myself wanting you. I want you to want something real with me. I want whatever a real relationship looks like with you. I want to go to the ruins of Pompeii and take sickening couple photos with you and post them on Instagram.
“You’re the boss, you tell me.” His mouth twitches. “Okay, six.” “AM!?”
He was thirteen when I first saw him dance—I’d been too intimidated to speak to him that first time, but I’d watched in awe as he’d outperformed every other boy on that stage. I told myself the next time we met I’d be as good as him, and that I’d say hello.
I’d never beaten him because Nicoló Savini was unbeatable. Only one man had ever beaten Nico. Sergio Cina.
This time it feels like he’s studying me the way an art lover would look at a painting or a sculptor might smooth his hands over a piece of new marble. Assessing, appreciating, planning.
(that we haven’t slept together for ten days—not that I’m counting)
“You went to London for him?” “Yeah, I did.” “Because you wanted to dance with him?” “Yes. But also because I’m in love with him.”
especially since he still told me daily that he hated me.
