A/N: Buckle up.
Alex lived alone in a townhouse in Knightsbridge. The property had been in his family for generations. I could feel the weight of history as he swung open the double doors. The entrance hall alone contained more art and antique furnishings than a museum. I took off my jacket, careful not to knock over the Ming Dynasty vases on either side of me.
An ornate Turkish rug led into the drawing room. It was everything I expected and more. A beaded chandelier sparkled in the center of the room like a supernova. The paneled walls, couches, settee and silk pillows were all ivory with bronze piping. The Edwardian cabinets and side tables were a rich lacquered oak, and the tassled drapes, heavy, velvet and royal blue. There wasn't an inch of the place that wasn't dripping in luxury.
Alex glided over to the liquor cabinet. "Cognac?"
I shouldn't have had anything more to drink that night but I said yes.
There were statuettes and framed photos of dancers on every surface. They looked like headstones, tiny graveyards of memories. I thought I spotted a photo of Harry but it was Hans. He was in black tights and a white bodysuit, standing in fifth position with his small hand on the barre. It wasn't taken at RBS. It must have been a studio in Paris where Alex had trained him privately. I glanced around and realized that there were dozens of photos of Hans: in the studio, in costume, onstage, backstage. There were also personal photos of Alex and Hans on a beach in the South of France, in his home in Paris, hugging at a gala...
I'd forgotten how close they were. Poor Alex. "I'm so sorry for your loss," I said, embracing him. I felt guilty. Here I was complaining about my breakup with Harry all night when Alex was still mourning the loss of his dearest pupil.
"It was a shock." He sat on the settee and held the cognac with both hands. "Hanging. What a horrible way to die. The cord didn't break his neck, you know. He strangled to death. I think about how long it must have taken. It keeps me up at night."
That was almost exactly what Harry said about Hans' suicide. Neither seemed to wonder why he did it. I wondered.
"You did so much for him while he was still with us."
"Yes, and in death. His parents asked me to deliver the eulogy at his funeral." Languidly, Alex crossed one leg over the other.
I continued to wander through his memories. There were several photos of his wife Irina, and Boris Polzin who he danced with at the Paris Opera Ballet. There were more students too. He'd mentored a boy at RBS before Hans, and four other boys at École de Danse de l'Opéra. Gigi was right. He did favor boys. But that was not unusual, was it? Alex was a male dancer, he probably felt more attached to the boys because he saw himself in them. What I did find unusual was that there were no photos of Harry.
He knew what I was searching for. Alex walked over to the bookcase and took down a small silver frame.
"Here's the little devil. I would have taken more but Harry hated being photographed. He wouldn't even smile for this one. I took it during our trip to Paris."
The Harry I remembered always had a huge froggy grin in photos.
When I held the silver frame in my hands my eyes widened. He was a baby! Creamy complexion, chubby cheeks, pouty pink lips and a stubborn chin, under a mass of wild curls. It seemed impossible that he was ever that young. I couldn't stop staring at it.
I was insanely jealous of Harry when he left for that trip. Stuck at school, I imagined the incredible time he was having, at all the best parties with the most sophisticated people. It was a pretty photo of him but this was not at all what I had pictured. He looked miserable. When I examined the photo more closely, I noticed something else that was very strange.
"My cufflinks."
"What?"
"I lent Harry my cufflinks to wear to the ballet. He's not wearing them."
Alex took the photo and put it back on the shelf. "It doesn't surprise me. Harry was an ungrateful child. He still is. He doesn't appreciate anything. Look at all I did for him. Did I ever get a thank you? No."
"He told me he wore them," I said. It wasn't like him to lie like that, just like it wasn't like him to frown in a photo.
Alex threw an arm around me and together we sat on the couch. He pointed to a photo of he and Hans, side by side on a sandy beach.
"Hans was the opposite of Harry. He constantly repaid me for all that I did for him. It's like the song goes, 'only the good die young.' "
I loosened my tie. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talking so much about Harry."
He picked up my hand and kissed it. "It's quite alright," he purred. "Harry wronged you. You should be angry." I could smell the fruity, metallic notes of the cognac on his lips. Alex's words fed the worst part of me but I was hungry for them. "Harry doesn't love you. He doesn't deserve you. He's selfish. He hurt you. He hurt your friend."
"I hate him for what he did to Liam."
"Liam is the latest in a long line of career casualties. Harry did the same thing to several colleagues at the Bolshoi. Don't worry, my pet. I've decided to take the position of resident choreographer." Alex pressed his forehead to mine. "I'll protect you."
I sank deeper into the plush couch. Alex took the glass from my hand. My head was swimming after that last drink. As I blinked, time seemed to be moving faster and slower at once. I closed my eyes for what felt like a second and when I opened them again, Alex's hand was in my hair.
"Your hair is such a lovely color, like a fawn in springtime. I like how it darkens when you sweat."
I blinked again and his hands were on my shirt undoing the buttons one by one.
"You're as pretty now as you were at fifteen."
We shouldn't be doing this, I thought. I didn't want to risk ruining our working relationship, especially if he was going to take a permanent position with the company. But I didn't want him to stop either. I was so lonely, so starved for affection. I missed Harry, but Alex was right: Harry didn't love me, he never did.
I sat there limply and let his hand trail over my naked chest.
"Let's play a game," he said, removing his glasses and placing them on the coffee table.
"What kind of game?"
He licked his lips. "You be the pupil and I'll be your teacher."
"Can't we just be ourselves?"
"It will be more fun this way." He squeezed my thigh. "Trust me."
My stomach fluttered. "Okay." I wasn't really into roleplaying and I wasn't sure what he wanted me to do. His request made me a little uneasy given that I actually had been his pupil at one time, but a lot of men had this fantasy, a lot of men wanted what was forbidden.
"Have you ever kissed a boy, Louis?" he asked.
I thought for a moment about how he might want me to respond. "No, Sir, I've never tried it..."
He smiled. "Let me teach you."
He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and put his mouth on mine. His kisses were sharp and forceful, like his tongue was trying to lash me into submission.
"Do you like it?" he asked, wiping the corners of my mouth with his thumb.
"Yes, Sir."
I didn't like it exactly but I liked pleasing him. His approval was like a drug.
He kissed me again, even rougher this time, fisting my hair.
I gasped.
He took my hand and placed it between his legs. He was hard. "Look what you've done," he scolded. "You see what you're doing to me, Louis?" He was no longer the sympathetic listener and friend, or the amiable dinner companion. He was now the severe instructor who could bring a young dancer to his knees.
I nodded meekly.
"Well? What are you going to do about it?"
I bit my bottom lip and began to rub him through his pants. I purposefully made my movements unknowing, like this was all new to me. Once I understood what he wanted I played the role of the naïve ingénue to the letter.
He growled and grabbed my hand. We locked eyes and slowly he drew the gold ribbon off my wrist with his teeth. It floated between the cushions.
"Sit on my lap," he ordered.
I straddled him and swiftly he unfastened my tie and tugged off my shirt. I felt his fingers dance over my throat before roughly twisting my arms behind my back. I was stronger than him but I played along and pretended I couldn't escape.
He continued kissing me, hard and fast, nipping my neck and shoulder.
"I'm going to teach you all kinds of things tonight, Louis."
"Like what?" I asked, innocently batting my eyelashes.
He was enjoying my performance. He released my arms and dug his fingers into my hips, moving me forcefully on his lap. "You've always been my favorite student, you know that? You're special. You're my special boy..."
I moaned, my eyes rolling back in my head as though I was possessed. His voice was hypnotizing. I was in a trance just like I was when I watched him dance or when he was guiding my barre exercises in the studio: one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four...
I would have touched him but he was so excited I didn't have to—in fact I think he preferred that I didn't. He wanted me to be completely passive in his arms. This was what Harry liked too. The more excited he became the more the two of them blurred together.
He rocked me on his lap like a ragdoll until he couldn't take anymore and needed to have me.
"Upstairs."
"Yes, Mr. Beauchamp," I breathed as he lifted me off of him.
Alex took me by the hand and led me like a child out of the drawing room. We passed the photo of young Harry on the bookcase. His green eyes followed us. I looked away, avoiding his haunting gaze.
Alex's bedroom was the least ornate room in the entire home—just a four-poster bed, a vanity and a dresser. It had the same velvet blue drapes and ivory upholstery as the floor below but otherwise the walls and surfaces were bare. The only thing that stood out was an antique German parlor clock under a glass dome ticking loudly on his nightstand.
He closed the bedroom door and came toward me. He undid my belt and pants and hooked a finger along the waistband of my boxers and slipped those off too. I stepped out of them and glanced up at him shyly. I was no longer acting. I did feel shy.
"Get on the bed."
Naked, I lay down on my back, anxiously waiting to be taken by my former teacher.
"No, on your knees."
Again, I did as I was told.
Alex removed his clothes and circled around me before crawling up on the bed. His body was lean and wiry, his black chest hair now mixed with a smattering of grey. I felt the mattress dip under his weight. He got behind me, lifted my hips and pushed me onto my elbows. His touch was firm and instructive.
"That's it."
He assessed my body for a moment and delivered a threatening lick over my rim. I quivered. Then I felt his length against the back of my thigh.
"Spread your knees a little wider for me, Louis."
"Yes, Sir."
I spread myself open until I was exposed, completely vulnerable and at his mercy.
I breathed softly into the mattress. This was happening. We were really about to do this. I pictured him onstage dancing when I was five, and the collage I had of him on my bedroom wall at school. I must have spent hundreds of hours gazing at those posters. And now he was here, we were here, together. It felt destined somehow, inevitable, like I was fulfilling some untold prophesy from my youth.
I bowed my head in submission and waited for him to enter me.
He leaned down and pressed his lips to my ear: "You're so obedient. Such a good boy."
My heart stopped.
Those words. I'd heard those words before.
Alex lined his hips up with mine.
My mind flashed to the first time Harry and I had sex, then to the grim, unsmiling photo of him downstairs. It was impossible. What I was thinking was impossible.
Alex slipped a hand beneath me and stroked my belly. "Let me in, Louis."
Our conversation at dinner rang in my ears like a piercing alarm bell. He liked "younger men." But Harry wasn't a man back then. He was a boy. He was just a boy.
Alex was rubbing himself against me, preparing to enter. It felt like a snake hissing against my skin.
I remembered Harry's issues in the bedroom, how he wept when I wanted to enter him and how he wept after he took me in his mouth.
My muscles clenched.
Alex wrapped his hands around my throat. "Be a good boy and let me in, Louis, or I'll have to force you."
This wasn't a game. This wasn't a fantasy. Alex had done this for real. He had done it to Harry.
"I guess you want to learn the hard way."
Alex didn't just happen to enjoy the same things Harry did, Harry enjoyed those things because Alex taught him to. Harry was too young to know any better.
His fingers tightened around my neck and he began to push himself inside me. I flinched so violently he flew back.
"No!" I boomed.
Heart pounding, I jumped off the bed and put my clothes back on as quickly as I could. Alex lay there dumbfounded.
"What's wrong? What's gotten into you? I was just having a bit of fun."
"I can't do this."
"Come back. I'll be gentle, my pet."
"I have to go."
"Louis, don't be silly." He grinned. "Is this about Harry? I'll make you forget all about him." He reached out to me and my whole body recoiled.
"Don't touch me!"
I thought I was going to be sick.
I ran out of the bedroom and down the narrow staircase brushing up against the priceless paintings, letting them swing on their hooks behind me.
How could I have not seen it? Harry's reservations in the bedroom. How timid he was in the studio with Alex.
He was never the same after that trip to Paris. I mistook self-destruction for ambition. He had been slowly destroying himself ever since. Just like Hans.
Hans. That's why Harry was so affected by his death. That's why neither Harry nor Alex talked about why he killed himself. It wasn't because they thought the reason unimportant; it was because they already knew.
I found Harry's crumpled ribbon tie in the couch and snatched the photo of him out of the silver frame. I didn't want Alex to have any part of him, not even one photo.
I ran out the door, my shirt half-open, my tie undone around my collar. I had to go to Harry.
He had been taking his painkillers every day for two weeks.
He hadn't been sleeping.
The last time he saw me I was leaving the opera house with Alex.
What have I done?
A/N: Louis knows. Finally.
I wanted this (almost) sex scene to be a pantomime of the abuse Harry and Hans suffered. I thought it would be a theatrical way for Louis to find out, which fits with the themes in the fic.
Weirdly, when I was researching where Alex might live in London, the first real estate site that came up was called Beauchamp Estates... I'm not kidding. It was so creepy.
The statuette in the collage is of Nureyev.
I'm going up north tomorrow so I'll only be able to post one update next week. Unless I get eaten by a bear, it should be up on Friday.