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The night had been full of soft chatter and whispered deals but after the polite applause that had ushered Oruha onstage, the room fell silent.
When she sang, people listened.
She swayed, easy with the beat as the band lulled the room into the melody. Her movements looked natural, the illusion only broken when her back up singers fell into synchronization on certain phrases of the intro. The instrumental verse drew to a close and she approached the microphone, hand falling against it softly like a lover.
“You heard the crickets of the early eve. They lurk around the opening in twos and threes. Clementine told you not to move with the breeze. I’ll take you down to places where we dare not speak.”
Oruha was their crowning glory. The epitome of what it meant to be Clover Records talent. Elegant. Engaging. Electric. Perfectly honed by years of training and charismatic enough to have the entire world wrapped around a slender fish-netted finger.
To witness her like this, in such an intimate theater, on such a significant night, meant you’d probably rather not talk about what you’d had to do to earn an invitation.
“You know you shouldn’t be there but it’s way past bed. There’s comfort in the fingers of your good intent. You know you shouldn’t be there but your money’s all spent. You’ve got your reputation and your good intent.” She turned her gaze on the crowd and it was like she could look straight past a person’s eyes and read the secrets written in their hearts. It wasn’t a feeling anyone there was comfortable with. Her voice trailed smoothly into another musical break. “Your good intent…”
There was a table to the left of the stage that people did not approach without an escort. It was on the same floor as the rest of them, but for all intents and purposes, just as much on display as the stage. Oruha’s chair sat empty at it, Ran on one side and Suu, tonight’s guest of honor, on the other. Neither were technically old enough for cocktails, but they had to hold something lest the carefully constructed tableau seem too contrived.
Fai was going to look very good at that table some day…
Ashura finished the last of his wine, leaving the glass with a passing busboy.
…but for now, he wasn’t allowed public appearances.
The raven haired manager pushed off the column he’d been leaning against and wove his way through the crowd. His negotiations had gone well and there was nothing left but to enjoy the party. He found his charge on the first try.
As he approached the normal bustle of backstage stilled, non-essential personnel retreating, leaving him in relative privacy.
Fai was nestled into the heavy Bordeaux-colored velvet of the front most, stage-left curtain, watching in obvious enjoyment as Oruha sang, his fingertips at the very edge of the curtain, as close as he could get while staying concealed.
He could almost feel the tension of Fai itching to get out on stage. It was there in the needy look in his eye. The way his fingers were just barely clutching at the fabric. The minute way his hips and shoulders twisted in echo of the choreography on stage.
They always got so desperate towards the end.
It would be Fai’s turn soon, but not just yet.
Fai didn’t see him approach, wrapped up as he was in her performance. Ashura drug the back of a knuckle a short distance down Fai’s upper arm, a signal letting the singer know who was behind him so he wouldn’t spook the way he did when people caught him off guard. When Fai didn’t react beyond a twitch in his smile, he knew it was safe to step closer, Fai’s back held casually against his chest and a hand resting on his hip. He’d only ever forgotten the signal once. Fai’s reaction had been enough to make him remember.
Fai slipped a hand into his vest pocket and turned his head back over his shoulder, holding up a small pill between two straight fingers. Ashura opened his mouth and Fai deposited it on the tip of his tongue with a graceful bend of his wrist and a kiss to his jaw.
Fai turned back to the show and Ashura took the opportunity to nuzzle into his golden hair, a finger dragging his ponytail back from his shoulder to lie straight down his back where he could twist it around his hand, testing the restrictive feel of it across his palm as he fisted and relaxed his hand a few times. He’d always loved Fai’s hair and it was going to be such a shame when they had to have it cut. Androgyny just wasn’t selling now the way it had been five years ago. He wondered how upset Fai was going to be when he found out.
The blonde was shifting against him, gentle movement of his hips keeping time and half abandoned stretches of his back following the rise and fall of the melody.
Ashura took pity.
“Care to dance?” He murmured against the blonde’s ear.
Fai turned and looked up at him in relief, smile tinged with a chemical excitement that wasn’t entirely natural. He took the proffered hand as Ashura lead him back, deeper into the dark of the wings. They stood close, face-to-face, eye-to-eye as Ashura held Fai’s hand up to the side and wrapped his other around the singer’s narrow waist.
No one stepped on stage as a Clover entertainer without at least a few years of grooming. Learning to dance like this, with rules and steps and strict discipline, hadn’t been Fai’s cup of tea at first, but he’d grown to love it. And his future choreographers would appreciate the training.
Ashura certainly did.
“Out to feed a habit when you sowed that seed. Nothing made you feel out of the ordinary. But the air turned sombre and the night took heed. Took you on a waltz of hypocrisy.”
Which wasn’t to say that Fai hadn’t been talented before his initiation. When he’d found the singer, he’d already been an accomplished artist and musician. He probably could have walked into any classical agency and walked out a comfortably employed concert pianist. And the years of putting himself through school by working part time in burlesque and drag clubs had certainly taught him stage presence and sex appeal. But Fai hadn't wanted 'comfortable'. He wanted stardom. And he’d trusted his career to Clover because he knew they didn’t settle for less.
So Fai didn’t complain when they’d told him what to wear, bleached his teeth, removed his tattoo and told him to quit smoking.
He didn’t complain when he was up at six a.m. to meet with his personal trainer because he had to be ready for dance training at seven thirty.
When he showed up to meet with his voice coach, he only apologized and didn’t try to give excuses or blame his hoarse throat on the acting coach who had forced him to tears.
He just worked harder.
To be a Clover performer meant unrivaled craftsmanship, rock solid control, and a meticulously crafted image that kept you palatable to the tastes of the masses.
But for now Fai was his private little songbird. And though they weren’t quite finished with him yet, he fit Ashura’s tastes just fine.
He kept them close as he lead Fai in a mix of rumba and tango, switching between the two as the whim hit him. He moved with nuance, forcing Fai to keep his frame firm and pay attention to the subtle cues of his body. He hardly lead any actual steps beyond the basic patterns, but Fai was still on his toes, keeping up with every sharp movement and not rushing the slow ones, forcing his hip out to compensate when Ashura pushed him off balance, grinning each time the lead managed to catch him by surprise. Ashura didn’t give Fai much freedom of movement, but when he did, the singer was eager to impress, dragging a toe along his calf, twining a leg around his thigh or really getting those last few degrees of twist out of his hip before following the orbit of the movement back to him. Ashura got an arm around his back and Fai followed it obediently into a dip, letting his head fall back. Ashura took the opportunity to trace his nose and lips up the smooth column of Fai’s exposed neck before pulling him back onto his leg and upright, close against him, foreheads touching. Fai’s gaze was heated.
It wasn’t a coincidence that their side of the wings seemed suddenly vacant.
“She broke your bones, till you’re lying in the dirt. The shadow of a hunter under your torture. It’s not enough to say, it’s not what in your heart. You’ve tainted every moment till death do we part.”
He lead Fai away again, giving him a moment to breathe, but the blonde slipped through his fingers. At first Ashura thought it was an accident, but then he continued, past the curtains until he was up-centerstage, concealed behind the scrim, but his shadow falling against Oruha’s backdrop for the whole audience to see.
Ashura watched in disbelief but Fai just raised an eyebrow. A dare. A gamble. A test of his limits. Would he be angry? Would there be punishment in Fai’s future? Professional or personal? Or…?
Fai lifted a hand and beckoned Ashura with a finger, the shadow of the motion falling clear for everyone in the audience to see.
Clover management famously did not like surprises.
Ashura smiled, shaking his head, but followed Fai onstage and pulled him through more twists and turns as the music flowed around them. He could imagine all the people that must be panicking over their silhouettes, but if any of them gave Fai a problem about it, they’d have him to answer to.