Chapter Text
Oliver beamed up at Giovanni as he wound a curl around his finger, admiring the butterscotch delicacy of the highlights in his hair. They were settled on the sofa in his dressing room, relaxing before the evening grew busy; it was an hour until curtains, Oliver had warmed up already, he’d eaten, he’d even had a piece of the Turkish delight that Giovanni had snuck in for him. It had been beautiful, handmade by his lover, sweet and sticky and fragranced with rosewater, covered in chocolate, everything he was strictly not allowed to eat an hour before a show.
“I can’t believe I’m doing the bluebird tonight.” He smiled giddily, taking Giovanni’s other hand and holding it close to his heart. “It’s- it’s absolutely insane, I can’t believe Matty got injured last night. I should feel bad but it- it’s so exciting.” He grinned. “I’m literally nineteen, and I’m dancing a principal role.”
“What does that mean?” He asked curiously. “You need to teach me more about ballet.”
“Principals are the best. They’re the ones that do all the main characters, like the prince and the princess, they’re both principals.” Oliver cushioned his head against his chest and smiled. “And I get to pretend to be one tonight.”
“That’s so incredible.” Giovanni sighed happily, kissing the top of his head idly. “Who’s dancing the prince and princess?”
“Dad and Mary. Talulah’s dancing the Lilac Fairy, too, which is amazing. Dad thinks she’ll be promoted to a soloist soon.” He smiled.
“And you’re a soloist?” He checked.
“First soloist. Same rank as Dad was when he turned nineteen.” He grinned, clearly proud of himself.
“I can’t believe I haven’t seen you up on stage before. I should’ve been able to tell, when we met at that club, that you were a dancer.” He chuckled. “I’m super excited, though. I feel like it’s a whole side to you and your family that I’ve never seen before. I’ve never been to the ballet.”
“You’ve never been to the ballet?” Oliver looked up, aghast. “I’ve been dancing since I was three.”
“Your father has also been a principal for nearly twenty years. You grew up in that setting.” Giovanni pointed out. “Can I meet your Dad?”
Oliver’s cheeks flushed; he hadn’t quite made the distinction in Gio’s mind, he’d allowed him to think that he had this incredible artist-musician-ballerina of a father instead of pointing out the distinction between Dad and Pop. He chastised himself occasionally - he’d been out since he was sixteen, and it wasn’t as though he’d had any resistance to his sexuality, but he was worried about seeming as though he was copying Freddie. He didn’t want Gio to believe he was some kind of experiment, when it wasn’t like that at all: Oliver was sure that he loved him.
“Of course.” He said shyly. He’d never told either father about his boyfriend, knowing how deathly protective they were of him, how afraid they’d be that he fell into the hands of the wrong man; he’d heard the stories of Freddie’s first lover, he’d learned the signs that nobody had ever taught his father, symptoms of abuse, the beginnings of control. He knew they were both frightened that one day he’d come home with bruises and he’d lock himself in the bathroom and cover them with makeup.
But that hadn’t been how it had happened; it had been his eighteenth birthday, he’d been at Heaven, he’d been dancing, he’d been drinking, he was excited and happy and beautiful and vibrant and he knew that Jim would leave the light on in the hallway when he stumbled home at five in the morning-
He felt a hand slide over his waist as he danced and turned his head, glancing at the man beside him with a bright smile. “Hey, gorgeous.” The voice was friendly, and Oliver’s heart fluttered a little. “Can I buy you a drink?” He offered, the Italian accent making him shiver.
“Of course, darling.” He wrapped his arms around the neck of the stranger, pulling him in a little closer. The man moved with him, swaying to stay close as Oliver lost himself to the beat of the music again.
“What can I get you?” He asked, his forehead resting against Oliver’s. Those strong arms were tight around his waist, protecting him and shielding him from the outside world. Oliver smiled widely at him, eyes flickering to his lips; he wondered what it would feel like to kiss him.
“White wine.” Oliver’s voice was soft, barely a whisper; it didn’t need to be louder. “But make it a good one, my dear, else I’ll be very disappointed.” He was teasing now, one hand curling up to run fingers through soft, thick hair.
Oliver giggled as he was half-dragged to the bar, the fingers around his wrist gentle yet insistent. He let himself be pressed against the counter, his hands sliding up and over the stranger’s chest, his neck, cheeks and then back into his hair again. He heard the low rumble of his drink being ordered, watched the way his Adam’s apple moved as he talked: he wanted to press a kiss to it and then lower, lower.
“You talk about him all the time.” Giovanni’s voice broke him out of his thoughts and he beamed up at his boyfriend. “I wish I’d known my dad.”
“I’m sure there’s enough of him to go around.” Oliver chuckled shyly and stood up, stretching out his legs and his toes. He was wearing blue split-soles, blue tights, a blue shirt, a crown of feathers on the top of his curls, alive and bright with excitement. “What do you think?”
“Edible, darling.” Giovanni smiled, leaning forward and allowing his eyes to rake over his form. “Simply delightful.”
“You’ll need to go and take your seat.” Oliver leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Are you in the circle?”
“The amphitheatre. Circle tickets are too expensive, it’s Christmas.” He chuckled and stood up, pulling him close for a second. “I love you, Olly. I’m so proud of you.”
“I love you too.” He leaned up and kissed his lips softly. “Thank you for coming to watch.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He promised, lightly swatting his ass as he walked away. He burst out laughing when Oliver gave him the finger, his heart warming with love for the man he got to call his own.
“You’re crying!” Jim laughed, pulling his husband close. “You always say I’m the sentimental one, and now you’re crying over the prologue to The Sleeping Beauty.”
“She’s beautiful.” Freddie laughed wetly and wiped his eyes. “She’s never done a role like this before, and she’s so confident, and she’s so beautiful. She looks like a real fairy.” He smiled, so proud. “My daughter is a fairy.”
“Your daughter is a fairy, your son is a bluebird, and you’re a prince. Your husband is a conductor, and your other son is a violinist, and your other daughter is a pianist. Your whole family is crazy.” Jim chuckled. “The cast list for these shows is getting ridiculous. F. Hutton, O. Hutton, T. Hutton, J. Hutton, R. Hutton and L. Hutton. I think the directors will kill us if we bring any more kids into the school or the company.”
Freddie rested his head on Jim’s shoulder. “I’ll be retiring before long, anyway. Then it’ll be down to them to keep the name going.” He whispered. “Though I don’t like to think about that. I’m getting old.”
“You’ll be a principal character artist until you’re sixty.” Jim chuckled. “They’ll hardly just kick you out. You’ve brought ballet to people who didn’t even know that they were into ballet.”
Freddie smiled at the praise and pressed a sweet kiss to Jim’s throat. “Olga was asking if I’d like to become a ballet master and start teaching. I don’t know if I want to teach, or choreograph, or keep dancing, or retire and do something else entirely. I’ve always- I’ve always had dreams of being the director of a place like this.” Freddie looked around and sighed softly. “I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye.”
“You never have to leave if you don’t want to.” Jim promised. “This is your home almost as much as our home is.”
Freddie smiled up at him and closed his eyes. “I need to perk up. I’m on in the next act.”
Jim tapped his cheek playfully and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you, darling. Smash it.”
Freddie laughed and let Jim smooth out the makeup under his eyes. “I love you too.”
“You are wonderful.” Freddie cupped Oliver’s cheeks and kissed his forehead, ignoring the blush that crossed his boy’s cheeks. “You should’ve seen yourself, Olly, you’re fucking incredible. You blew me out of the water.”
“Oh, shut up.” Oliver laughed, pushing his shoulder. “You’re as good as ever.”
“This isn’t about me.” Freddie shook his head. “Darling, I’m so proud of you. I’ve never seen somebody look so bloody happy while they’re dancing.”
Oliver smiled and hugged his father. “It’s rare that we all get to dance together. I’m enjoying it.”
“My little Lilac Fairy and my Bluebird.” Freddie hugged him back, overwhelmed with love for his son. “I’ll see you on the other side.”
“Olly!” Giovanni called, running up the stairs to where he could see his lover about to disappear into the dressing rooms behind them. “Olly, Olly, wait!”
Jim looked around before Oliver had the chance to respond, and both boys’ cheeks turned scarlet. “Olly?” He questioned.
Oliver bit his lip and looked up at his father, butterflies blossoming in his stomach. “Pop, this is- this is Gio.” He said, his voice softening involuntarily.
“Gio?” Jim repeated, smiling at the stranger and holding out his hand. “I’m Jim, I’m Olly’s father.”
Giovanni couldn’t deny that he was confused; he was sure that Oliver had mentioned that his father had been dancing the prince, not that he was the conductor. He shook his hand and smiled shyly, wanting to make a good impression regardless; he didn’t understand the world of ballet, and he could’ve easily misheard. “I’m Olly’s- Olly’s-” He found himself stammering, not knowing if it was okay to use the word ‘boyfriend’; Oliver had agreed that he could meet his father, but he had no idea if he was out to his family, if it was safe to talk about their relationship-
“What’s going on, boys?” Freddie asked curiously, handing Oliver a glass of water and sipping his own. At the sight of a new face, Freddie lit up. “Hi, darling, who are you?”
“This is my boyfriend.” Oliver blurted out, his cheeks scarlet. He walked over to his lover and took his hand gently, not defensive so much as protective. “Gio, this is my dad, Freddie, and my pop, Jim.”
Something clicked in Giovanni’s mind and he turned to Oliver, breaking into a smile. “You never mentioned you had two fathers.”
“Has had since he was four.” Freddie smiled and leaned tiredly against Jim; his foot was cramping and he needed a long sit down. “Olly never mentioned you. Have you been together long?”
Oliver’s squeeze told him it was okay; as much as his family wouldn’t accept them, as much as his mother hated them both, that squeeze reminded him that he always had a family on Oliver’s side. “About a year.” Giovanni said softly.
“Olly! You should’ve told us.” Jim laughed and held the door open for them. “Listen, why don’t we go and sit down? I think this one’s going to fall over in a second.” He kissed Freddie’s cheek playfully.
They all settled in Freddie’s studio and Freddie got to work patching his feet up; thirty-two years of dance had ruined any beauty he’d ever had in them. “I need more details.” He looked up as he pulled off the boots. “Where did you meet?”
“There’s this club called Heaven-” Oliver started, looking over quickly when Jim snorted with laughter.
“What did you buy him?” Freddie asked Giovanni.
“White wine.” He replied shyly.
“Oh, Olly, you are so my son.” Freddie laughed. “That’s exactly how I met your father.”
Giovanni’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Really. I was off my face and he bought me a glass of white wine at Heaven.” He chuckled. “Watch out, we still go sometimes.”
“I’m sure this conversation isn’t in the parenting manual, Fred.” Jim commented, rustling in one of his drawers for the second skin that Freddie always forgot to lay out when he was patching up his blisters. “Gio, darling, what do you do for a living?”
“Oh, well, right now, I’m a hairdresser.” He said shyly. “I’m trying to get some work in art and design, though. I’m maybe going to do some set design work with the Royal Court.”
“Set design is amazing.” Freddie nodded. “I’ve done a lot of it while I’ve been injured. I can see you being really happy doing that.” He took the second skin and leaned up to kiss Jim briefly. “Thank you.”
“Mum isn’t too pleased.” He said shyly, looking down at his fingers. “She wants me to get a degree.”
“It depends on what you want to do, darling.” Jim said soothingly. “If you want to do art, you’re much better getting experience.”
“It’s just so hard.” He sighed. “No one in my family likes art, they don’t even know anyone that does. I feel- I feel very alone.”
“It’s shit.” Freddie agreed, nodding. “My parents didn’t want me to dance. You feel like you’re walking through a dark corridor trying to meet the right people.”
“We’ve had it easy.” Oliver nodded. “Because Lulah and I wanted to dance, and Dad knew who to introduce us to, and Ru and Luna both wanted to do music.”
“I wish I could’ve had parents like that.” He admitted.
“I’m sure we know a person or two that could help.” Freddie shrugged.
Giovanni looked up, his face lighting up. “Are you serious?”
“You’ve been with my son for a year. You’re practically my son already.” Freddie chuckled. “I’d like to help you.”
Luna burst into the room. “Pop!” She shouted, crossing her arms angrily. “Pop, you went into three-four when we were still supposed to be in four-three and you messed up all of my playing!”
“Sweetheart-” Jim laughed. “It’s all to do with what they’re dancing. We have to learn to keep up.”
“She’s just complaining.” Reuben rested his hand on his father’s shoulder. “It was just fine, Pop.”
“Daddy!” Talulah ran into the room holding one of her shoes. “Daddy, there’s blood in it!”
“Nature of the job, princess.” Freddie chuckled. As the room descended into chaos, Giovanni found himself relaxing, happy and safe with this new family, feeling accepted, feeling loved, feeling supported-
It was all he could have ever dreamed of.
Freddie gasped as Jim kissed down his neck, tangling his fingers in his hair as they lay together. “Oh my God-” He bit his lip and tugged on his lover’s shirt. “Come on, you bastard, off-”
Jim laughed and pulled off his shirt. “Does it put you off to know that your son is getting laid right now?”
“Shut the fuck up.” Freddie closed his eyes as fingers pinched his nipple through his shirt. “Don’t kill the mood.”
“The circle of life.” Jim snorted and Freddie couldn’t help his laugh as he kicked him in the hip.
“Shut up!” Freddie laughed, falling back between the sheets. “God, you’re the worst.”
“Twenty-one years and I can still make you laugh when I’m supposed to be getting you off.” Jim kissed his jawline and grinned.
“It is kind of disconcerting, though, isn’t it? Olly having a boyfriend?” Freddie propped himself up on his elbows.
“Makes me glad we’ve got the flat.” Jim hummed and pulled Freddie’s shirt off. “We don’t have to listen to them fuck, and they don’t have to listen to us.”
“I hope you know that I hate you.” He commented idly, tugging Jim down on top of him. They’d agreed to buy the flat in Covent Garden again when it had come up on the market again, their own little piece of heaven away from family life, their time to be the two of them again, and they were infinitely thankful as their children got older. “Though I do love it here.”
“I have good ideas.” Jim nipped the skin on his collarbone and then kissed over the mark.
“You do.” Freddie gasped when he pressed his hips down, and then smirked. “Now shut up, and fuck me.”