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Rocket watches as you stagger a little in the dressing room. “You barely got through the last number; what's going on?” she asks conspiratorially.
“I don't feel so good; my head hurts."
She puts a hand on your forehead. “You don't have a fever. Think you'll be ok until Blue dismisses us? I can tell Madame Gorski you're too sick for clients tonight.”
You nod slightly, closing your eyes. You try to block out the noise of the other dancers milling around, getting ready. Blue's voice crackles through the speakers as he thanks the audience and tells his special ticket holders to stick around for the next event.
The thought of having to do a “next event” in your current state makes your stomach flip. You hope Rocket is right about Gorski letting you skip tonight. You sit down at your dressing table, pull out a bottle of painkillers and take a couple. Then you rest your forehead on the wooden surface, gripping your hands in your lap.
A few minutes later, you jolt awake as Rocket puts a hand on your shoulder.
“It's ok; it's just me,” she soothes. “I talked to Gorski-”
Her words are cut off by a flurry of activity as Blue enters and everyone stands to face him. You slowly stand up, too, gripping the table behind you for support as dizziness rolls through you.
“Good show tonight, girls!” Blue says, smiling broadly. “We have lots of new friends visiting us tonight, so confirm your assignments with Madame Gorski before you welcome them.”
He nods to the assembly, then turns to speak to Gorski. Their voices are too low to hear.
The other dancers start to move to their next jobs; the noise makes your head pound. Suddenly, your name rings out from across the room. Gorski is still talking to Blue in hushed tones, obviously trying to explain that you are sick.
“…with me tonight,” Blue says in a tone that doesn't allow for argument.
Your heart sinks. There's no way you can do whatever he will ask of you, not with the way your body threatens to give out on you at any moment.
Blue calls your name and catches your eye, flashing his salesman smile. “Come over here, doll.”
You walk over slowly, trying not to fall as your vision spins.
Gorski shoots you an apologetic look as you reach them. Blue looks you up and down.
“We have some business to discuss in my office,” he says smoothly.
You nod carefully.
Blue turns to Madame Gorski. “You know where to find me if there are any issues you can’t handle,” he says with a grin, then kisses her on the cheek.
His hand finds your lower back and guides you in front of him. “This way, sweetheart.”
You walk silently to Blue's office with a pit growing in your stomach. The smell of his cologne is stronger than normal; it fills your nostrils with each breath, another distraction for your pained head. A small part of your brain screams to run, but the warmth of his hand on your back is a reminder of how pointless that would be. The distance seems much shorter than you remember, and before you know it, Blue is unlocking the door to his office and ushering you inside.
“Sit down,” he orders as he closes and locks the door behind you. You let out a relieved sigh at how quiet it is in his office. Even Blue's voice sounds more quiet than normal, but that could just be the calm before the storm.
You quickly sit on the couch and squeeze your eyes shut as a sudden wave of nausea washes over you. Blue's shoes click on the floor, moving around his desk and eventually stopping right in front of you.
“Show me your eyes, doll,” he demands, voice soft but clear in the silence.
You hesitantly open them and look up.
Blue leans close to you as his dark eyes stare into yours; you try not to flinch. After a moment, he straightens and looks you up and down again. “Do you know why you're here?” he asks, removing his suit jacket and tossing it over a chair.
You nod slowly, trying to ignore the pain that shoots through your head. You wince and drop your gaze a little.
Blue grabs your chin and tilts your head up, making you gasp. “You're one of my good little dolls, right?" His voice is still soft, but with that terrifying undercurrent of danger. "You wouldn't accept gifts from friends that you're not supposed to? Extra attention, drugs…” Blue raises an eyebrow and waits.
“N-no, sir, I didn't. I'm not on drugs.” You tense as a shiver runs down your spine. He's going to think you're lying.
Blue releases your chin. You can't tell if he believes you or not. He starts to remove his tie as he speaks. “Your dancing was off tonight, sweetheart. Not by much; most people wouldn't notice.”
“I know, I'm sorry-”
“Shhh,” he cuts you off, resting his hand on your shoulder. His face shows pity, perhaps mocking you. “Lie down; close your eyes,” he commands quietly.
You shut your eyes and lie back slowly, heart pounding in anticipation. Maybe you can manage this, if all he wants is for you to lie still while he fucks you.
You feel him lift your legs, then a dip in the couch as he sits, dropping your legs over his lap. You can't stop the gasp that falls from your lips as he runs one hand over your calf muscles. He holds your leg still as he unbuckles your shoe and slides it off. It hits the floor with a soft thud, and the other follows soon after. Blue massages your legs as you swallow hard.
“When did your migraine start?” Blue asks quietly.
You go as still as possible, shocked that he knew. Did Gorski tell him?
“You're ok. Relax." His low, soothing voice washes over you as his hands keep moving gently over your legs.
Much to your own surprise, you do start to relax under his touch…until his hands move above your knees, sliding your skirt up as he goes. You tense and raise up on your elbows, watching anxiously as he unbuckles your sequined stage stockings, then carefully pulls them down your legs and off, one by one.
“There. Now you won't feel so itchy." Blue meets your surprised stare with a smirk. He gently moves your legs off of him. “Sit up for a minute,” he orders, holding out a hand to help you. When you take it, he pulls you upright and angles you to sit sideways on the couch, facing away from him. You shudder as his fingers crawl down your spine. He pulls at the laces on the back of your stage costume, loosening it just enough for you to breathe easier without taking it off completely.
His hands move to your shoulders, and he leans you back until your head rests on his lap. Blue huffs in amusement at your wide-eyed confusion.
He tuts at you. “You still got your pins in your hair, sweetheart. Look at the desk,” he orders. You turn your head sideways, facing out into the room, and rest your cheek on his thigh. “Good doll; now hold still for me.”
You freeze stiffly against him. There's no way he knows how to take bobby pins out without it hurting.
Blue's fingers slide against your scalp gently as he moves locks of hair to find the pins. It feels so good that you let out a small whine.
His fingers stop moving. “Did that hurt?” He asks.
“No,” you say slowly. “No, it felt…kind of good,” you confess.
Blue starts moving his hands in your hair again. “That's good, doll. I'm not trying to hurt you, so tell me if I do.” He deftly removes a bobby pin from your hair, then another. You let out the occasional relieved whimper as he works; you hadn't realized just how tightly some of them were secured. Your eyes droop closed again as Blue rubs a hand down the back of your neck and against your shoulder, massaging deep circles into your muscles with his thumb. You cry out as he hits a particularly sore spot.
“Want me to stop, doll?"
You shake your head slightly against his leg and gasp when his thumb presses slowly against your neck again.
“You never answered my question,” he says in a low voice, trailing his hands over your skin.
His question? When did he ask you…oh yeah, the migraine.
“It started about thirty minutes before the end of the show,” you explain.
“What set it off? The noise or the lights?”
“I'm not really sure. Maybe both.”
“This tension in your neck didn't help, I bet.” You melt into the couch as his fingers keep massaging away your aches. “Did you think you would be able to take clients like this?” he asks, too sweet to be anything but dangerous.
Your stomach drops, but you take a shuddering breath in. “I would have pushed through,” you assure him.
“Maybe,” he concedes, “or maybe you would have gotten sick all over a paying customer,” Blue admonishes.
Maybe it’s the sleepiness rapidly overtaking you, but you don't catch any real venom in his tone this time.
“Some of them might be into that,” you dare to joke back.
Blue lets out a quick laugh. “They might, sweetheart, but let's not find out the hard way. The next time you feel bad like this, you come tell me, alright?”
You yawn, jaw popping against his leg. “Ok, Blue.”
He moves a hand to your shoulder and pulls until you roll over onto your back. “Feeling better, doll?” He asks.
You're not sure exactly when it happened, but the pounding in your head has stopped. You grin sleepily up at him. “Yes, Blue. So much better.”
Blue cups your cheek and smirks. “Good. You're going to sleep here tonight, and if anybody asks, you tell them I fucked you stupid all night, understand?”
You watch his face closely. “Are you not…” you swallow nervously, “...going to do that?”
“No,” he says slowly, smiling down at you. “Believe it or not, I need some rest too.”
He lifts your head up gently and scoots out from under you. You're still processing his words as he slides one of the throw pillows under your head. You've heard stories from the other dancers about what Blue does with them alone in his office. Now that your migraine has ebbed and you've felt Blue's undivided attention firsthand, you find yourself wondering what more would feel like.
Blue grabs a blanket from behind the couch and settles it over you. He catches your perplexed expression and tuts, tracing your cheek with his thumb. "Don't look so sad, doll; I won't let you leave tomorrow without a smile on your face," Blue promises with a wink.
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