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Will was four when his mam enrolled him in ballet. Something about helping coordination and social skills as her little boy skipped about the room and learned about pliés, tendues and port de bras. He spent a majority of his toddlerhood twirling in his childhood living room for his parents and grinning with confidence at the fact that his teacher told him his pointe was good at dance that day. If his emotions were particularly big one day Will’s mam told him to dance it out, something his instructor told her about when he was five and started throwing fits every time his mam left the room. ‘Dance out your big feelings, you’ll be okay, William.’ And Will cradled it close to his chest even now at Twenty-nine with an entirely new teacher, harder moves and a degree in choreography. He walked rooms with confidence and a femininity only a ballet dancer could weld and he held it like a swordsman. He grew up on big stages and would continue to grow old on them. William Lenney could plié perfectly by five and had mastered a pirouette by twenty, he was practically untouchable until James Marriott.
From thirty minute toddler classes to ninety minute adult classes, Will had signed himself over to a lifetime of bleeding feet, broken toenails, and breaking in pointe shoes for weeks at a time. His feet no longer used to the light cloth shoes of childhood, but adapted to the harsh leather of being en pointe when needs be. His first pair are still hanging in a box in his flat above his bed. He was twelve when he received them and almost cried when he tried dancing in them for the first time. Now, he dances easily with the delicacy of a professional and lifts other dancers above his head while keeping his toes pointed. There is a complexity of being afraid of blood and cleaning bleeding feet every other session which was interesting, he may almost faint at each injury but his dedication to his passion is too strong to stop. He was raised with relevés structured in his bones and doesn’t plan to stop at fouettés.
Will doesn’t take the term ballerina lightly. He was embarrassed of it as a young child when the boys on the playground fussed with him over packed leotards and ballet flats, called him a ‘poof’ and shoved his delicate figure onto school floors, but he’s a grown man made of skin, bones, and muscle now. Muscle from something as elegant as a chasse. No longer the thin boy who gets tugged at in English hallways, but a man grown into a lanky body with graceful features and a pretty enough face for front and center on stages. Maybe Will has an ego but he’s one of two males in his ballet class and he out-performs the other each time they do warmup. The only issue in recent days is the new transfer. James Marriott, who started years after Will and performs at a higher level and is currently crushing Will’s self-esteem one dance at a time. Call it jealousy, call it envy, hell, even desire would work but Will wants him gone.
James walks with the same grace that Will does but he’s got the masculinity Will lacks. Something Will searched for his entire life and had his hands come up empty, any lingering thoughts of manliness falling through his hands like sand. James is like a dagger to his sword, punchy and violent compared to swift and elegant. They’re complete opposites and Will fucking hates him. No matter how many times he’s paired up with the Southerner to do warmups and James tries to engage in small talk while Will turns the other cheek, he swears he will always hate him. Jealousy is like a drug in the dance world and Will can’t get enough of the competition. There is no dancing out the disdain for someone like his first dance instructor taught him, especially when they’re almost a constant in your life, a constant in your passion that is used to escape reality.
This morning when he locks eyes with James he rolls his eyes at him, delicately sits on the floor and begins tying up his pointe shoes. Will takes the floor with grace, James stumbles onto it like a deer walking over ice. He watches James get into position and can’t help but feel his blood boil. James may have started later but Will knew ballet wasn’t his first pick of poison. The muscles that accentuated James’ biceps simply couldn’t have come from this art and this art alone, he’s either at the gym often enough to have developed the muscles there or he contributes to other arts besides ballet. He refuses to talk to James but he’s overheard him tell the others he used to strictly do contemporary, why the fuck is he in ballet? Will often finds himself thinking about how a man like James could contort and fling his body around and not manage to break his neck. He lets himself wonder what James would look like doing an aerial, would he land loudly on the floor or would he manage to retouch the ground like he never left it. He wishes it was the first one but he’s seen him do a grand jeté and he landed without a sound.
Will’s meant to be focusing on his left leg specifically today, it’s been extra tight as of lately and he can’t afford any time off trying to nurse it back into health. He grabs onto the bar with a white knuckle grip and starts slowly extending his leg into the air. He feels eyes on him, eyes that aren’t welcome. Will turns his head and sees James staring right into him. He feels his grip on the bar tighten hard enough to irritate the blisters on his palms. “Got an issue?” He knows he sounds snarky, It’s on purpose, he wants his voice to be dripping with venom. James just smiles at him, doesn’t say anything and gets back to kicking his leg in and out eloquently. Will feels his blood pressure spike, he’s pissed off and he’s been in the dance hall for less than fifteen minutes. Will lets himself stretch out his left leg for the twenty minute period of warmup and sighs when the instructor pairs him with a girl half his size with brunette hair and big Bambi eyes. He doesn’t know her name, forgot it on the first day and they’ve been paired at least ten times.
They’re doing lifts for an upcoming show, halfway through their instructor pauses and she points at Will. “You. You’re fantastic but you’re frail like the women here. How would you feel about being paired with James?” Will mentally shoves a gun in his mouth and pulls the trigger. Outwardly he blinks at her and says, “What about my partner?” He gestures to her weakly, he doesn’t actually care much what happens to her, he just doesn’t want to be bothered by James for a whole month. Practice after practice, warmup after warmup, filled by James’ presence. “She would be a backup, you and James would be leads.” All eyes are on him and James now; the word ‘lead’ gets Will’s attention. He glances at the other man and nods, “Okay.” He waltzes over to James’ space and the other man touches his waist and Will wants to shove his pointe shoes down his throat.
They have a new routine by the end of the session and Will’s feet are bleeding again. James offers to help and Will shoves him off aggressively, digging in his bag for his first aid kit and dousing his bloody feet in isopropyl alcohol, hissing as he quickly covers them in bandages, feeling his head going airy. He’s the last one in the dance hall besides James. “Fuck are you still doing in here?” Will spits trying to maneuver his feet into his birkenstocks without hurting them further. “You know for a ballerina you talk like a sailor.” James is at the bar again, practicing pliés like they’re still in nursery. “I’m a grown man, I’m gonna talk like one, and you didn’t answer me.” He’s hitting low shots for no reason, they dance together well, James is fine on the floor and he can lift Will no problem. Will just hates how passionate the routine is. “I practice after everyone leaves, William, I haven’t been doing this as long as everyone else if you don’t remember.” James is being open and honest and it makes Will want to throw his dance bag at him. Instead he mumbles a simple, “Whatever, see you next practice.” James’ way and shuffles out of the hall.
—
Will’s apartment is messy. Leotards and leggings thrown over his sofa and ballet booklets on his coffee table. He got a coffee on the way home to calm his nerves and he’s ready to shower and get ready for bed when his phone vibrates.
UNKNOWN NUMBER at 21:32: Hey, this is James, Got your number from the instructor in case of emergency. Not trying to stalk you or anything just trying to make sure we’re on the same page for this performance. You don’t have to like me but we have to be communicative about practice.
Seen at 21:46.
WILL at 21:50: Okay.
Seen at 21:51.
Will’s blood is boiling.
How fucking dare the arrogant prick waltz into his phone without half a warning, acting like a victim with his whole “You don't have to like me.” persona. Will had half the mind to tell him to fuck off, he also had a voice in his head try and tell him to message again, try and learn what his dance partner is like. With ballet, Will has always known he would be feminized, he knew that people would see him do his art and try to ridicule him for it but seeing his instructor pair him with a man was like reopening a wound just to watch it bleed. He grew up constantly being scrutinized by his peers for his choice of passion, his way of life. James being stronger, more masculine and agile than Will was mortifying. He can’t compare their strength too much because he knows James has had experience doing much more strenuous forms of dance whereas Will has always kept it delicate. Agile. Almost small. Like a swan gliding across water, but his water was marley flooring and he glided across them with leather winging. He’s always been a bit too feminine.
—
When he’s in bed, he lays awake thinking as to why he was put with James, he’s never had to address his sexuality to anyone in the dance community because he feels like it’s never had to be brought up. They were all there for the same reason and that was to put passion and mental anguish on the back burner and test their bodies limits. He’s been given the downright evil challenge of picking a song for the dance he and James will inevitably have to perform. He skims through his playlist and thinks about how he wants to go about this. He could either find a light upbeat song and use his and James’ skills to accommodate a light hearted dance or he could hate himself and give the audience and his instructor what they want, passion and heartthrob. He sees the Swan Theme by Tchaikovsky and immediately stops in his tracks, music from one of the most world-renowned ballets might as well be it for him. He puts the song on, lets the music consume his soul. He imagines the relevés James could effortlessly pull off, the slow glides across the stage and psychological energy during the orchestral closing. The feeling of adrenaline Will gets on stage is something he could never replicate even if he tried, it’s a high he knows most dancers know by heart but he could never explain to a common man. He knows James shares that passion and drive with him, he just needs to figure out how he can encapsulate what should be an emotional and heartfelt dance into a believable performance for the audience to watch. A believable performance for his body.
Will wants the people in the crowd to think him and James are lovers, two souls that have intertwined and joined to project something so raw and vulnerable that the audience won't be able to sit through it with dry eyes. This is the art, he's doing it for the art of it. James can fuck himself when Will’s done with him but until then he has to convince the world he loves him. He downloads the song and puts it on loop before turning his phone off and closing his eyes. He dreams of all the ways he could be gracefully picked up into the air. He lets himself throw his head back in a laugh mid air. The blurry face in his dream, lifting him up and treating him with such delicacy remains unknown to Will’s oblivious state.
He wakes up to his six thirty alarm with a jolt and can already feel his feet ache from yesterday's rehearsals. He wants to practice a couple maneuvers he can incorporate into the dance so he doesn’t have to make it seem like he's less skilled in front of James. Will has a sick desire to be the best and he can’t do that if he slips up. He pulls himself out of his cozy bed, he trudges his way to his living room in a manner that is so far from eloquent that it would be embarrassing if anyone else saw him. He specifically wants to go over his jetes. Will has an image in his head and he wants to replicate this swan like elegance as close as he can. He already knows releves and tour en l’airs are going to be included but he can go over those in the studio.
He stretches his legs and makes sure that each jump he does his toes are pointed to perfection, legs straight as rulers and arms gracefully in the air. He doesn’t need music to get into this dream-like state, the quietness in Will’s apartment helps him focus more on pushing himself to do the best he can at such an early time in the morning. He wonders if James is putting in this much effort, if James is even awake right now. After around twenty minutes of consistent jumping, Will heads to his shower and lets himself get ready for the studio on auto pilot. Replaces the sleep shirt and boxers with a black leotard and leggings before shoving himself into his birkenstocks and grabbing his dance bag. It’s gonna be a long day.
—
It turns out not avoiding James is a lot easier than avoiding him. He helps Will stretch into pointe before practice, runs his hands along muscular thighs and compliments his form and Will wants to snap at him before he sees the soft smile on his face. Something comfortable, gentle. It makes Will somewhat pliant to his touch when they rehearse thirty minutes in, when James spins him into a pirouette and catches him in a fondu position, his body bending into James’ arms easily, like they were meant to do this. Laid in his arms Will speaks softly to James for the first time. “I picked a song, Swan Theme. Tchaikovsky. Queer composer who made Swan Lake.” He says it like it’s not common knowledge just in case. James smiles at him, something sweet. “I like that choice, your elegance makes more sense now.” James settles him upright and envelopes him in front of his chest for a moment and then spins him to the beat. They have to tell the instructor about the music still and Will’s hesitant. “Go tell the instructor the music. I need to stretch.” He sends James away again, and watches the instructor’s pleased face when she hears the music choice.
The rest of practice is relaxing, his teacher explaining where each dancer will be and coming up with the full dance while the class makes use of their time. Next week will be the real deal, a full dance and practice where he’s fully wrapped around vanilla and cedar cologne and shaggy hair. He’s both excited and not. He loves ballet and he’s disappointed that he’s paired with James. He can’t say he hates him anymore when his hands are soft around Will’s waist and he’s so gentle with Will’s delicate movements, like James makes himself soft to account for Will’s femininity. Like a dog bearing its underbelly to an owner. He leaves the dance hall that day looking back at James, who’s back on the floor stretching to pointe, again. Will shakes his head, “Have a good practice, Marriott.” James smiles back at him and waves the older off, they’re getting somewhere. Where that is Will isn’t so sure. Will walks home thinking about Swan Lake, about the delicacy of birds, the divinity in white feathers, about James. His feet hurt and he’s tired. As soon as he’s back at his flat he collapses on the sofa and it’s lights out like he wasn’t even awake in the first place.
—
The third day of practicing the real routine for Swan Theme Will’s feet bleed again and he almost passes out. He’s leaned over his own foot and huffing out baited breaths until James walks over, “Let me help. Please.” and Will just nods defeatedly handing over cotton, isopropyl alcohol, and bandages as he looks away from the wound on his feet. James is gentle with how he cleans, smooth strokes and soft rubs until he eventually bandages the blistering skin on Will’s foot better than Will ever has. “You push yourself really hard y’know?” And Will just chuckles. “I have to. This is a prestigious program.” He doesn’t talk about how his eating habits are shite now, or how his feet hurt every time he walks for too long, nor how jealous he is of James for being able to do moves so easily. “Prestigious enough for all this? I don’t go home with blistering feet.” Will rolls his eyes. “ ‘m gonna go home now. Text me if you need anything.” An olive branch. Will doesn’t know why he’s giving it out but it feels important, hazel eyes bore into his back as he leaves the studio and he walks home in the rain.
—
Their recital is in two days. Will hasn’t slept properly and it’s getting obvious, he shows up to the last rehearsal he and James are scheduled to have and he keeps slipping up on moves that should come to him like second nature. Near the end of the dance, Will essentially throws himself into James’s arms, Will has to trust James to keep him upright as his torso and head go upside down whilst his leg locks behind that back of James’ head. If it’s done right it should look like Will is doing the splits hanging upside down being held up by James. He goes to try to get into position but the lingering fatigue that is suffocating Will’s bones causes him to fall into James’ arms. If he wasn’t so bone tired he would’ve immediately pulled himself up but it feels like his legs have stopped working. “Jesus Christ, Will! What's going on?” James’ slender arms immediately wrap around the elder's waist to keep him upright. “Fuck’s sake! Sorry Marriott, haven’t been lookin’ after myself right I think… Sorry.” Will feels the betraying sting of frustrated tears prick his eyes and he has to squeeze them shut to stop them from slipping. Despite his dignity being shredded in front of him, he can't quite bring himself to leave James’ embrace. It’s the most comfort he’s felt over the last few nights and he can’t help but grip the taller man's biceps just that little bit tighter.
James is the first one to pull back, Will feels himself get jostled into an upright position and lets himself get situated to the barre and uses that as a support. “Heres what we're gonna do, yeah? I’m gonna take you back to mine, I’m gonna run you a bath and you’re gonna have a proper meal okay? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you skipping lunch to get an extra hour in the rehearsal room.” Will doesn’t understand why James is being so nice to him, it’s not exactly like he deserves it but he’s grateful none the less. He doesn't give James a verbal answer, he just nods his head and extends his hand out for James to grasp. James doesn't hesitate to interlock their fingers together whilst he picks up both their bags.
“It’s just a short walk to mine, I wanted somewhere close to the studio.” Will looks up at him and just smiles, he doesn’t want to ruin the sweet atmosphere by accidentally being nasty. He lets himself get pulled through the busy streets of London until they reach an apartment complex. James’ hand slips out of Will’s so he can reach into his tote bag and retrieve his keys. Once he’s unlocked the door, the two men are greeted to a long crackling meow. Will flinches momentarily. “Didn’t know you had a cat.” He bends down to stroke the thing despite his legs’ protests. James laughs, a deep hearty laugh and Will realizes that this is one of the first times he's heard James really laugh. “His name is Otto, London can get rather lonely when you don't know anyone. I got him as soon as I got the go ahead from my landlord.” Otto purrs as Will scratches behind his ears.
James lets Will take his jacket off and hands it up for him, he places his hand on Will’s lower back and gently directs him to the couch. Will lets himself collapse into the comfortable plush of the sofa and lets James’ place a soft throw over his tired body. “I want to get some food in you before you bathe, I don’t want the heat making you dizzy.” James sits down next to Will who is embarrassingly half sprawled across James’ couch. He feels himself naturally gravitate to James’ heat. He lets his head fall gently onto the younger man's lap. He feels James’ fingers drag through his hair and he lets his eyes fall closed. Will can’t remember the last time he let himself get held by anyone. He never really let himself explore dating when he moved to London. Sure he kissed the occasional boy in Whitley Bay but most boys avoided him like he had an illness, too scared to give the delicate yet spitfire of a boy a chance because he decided to kick his legs to the sky instead of kicking a ball into a goalpost.
Will doesn’t realise he fell asleep until he sits up and realizes James’ isn’t there anymore. He rubs his eyes and stands up. He turns his head around and just takes in his surroundings. His gaze eventually falls onto the tall man, he’s clearly cooking something and Will can't believe it's taken this long for the gorgeous smell to hit his nostrils. He walks over to where James is and just stands behind him. He wraps his arms around James’ hips and leans his chin on the younger's shoulder. If James questions it, he’ll just blame it on his tiredness. “What are you making?” His voice sounds gravelly, almost as if his body is protesting for being woken up so soon after such little sleep. James turns his head to try and get a glimpse of Will, seeing the usually wound up and angry man look so soft and breakable splinters James’ heart a little bit. “I’m making you some soup, you clearly need the nutrients and could probably do with the comfort too.” Will doesn’t reply, He just grabs James' hand that was hanging limp at his side and brushes his knuckles with his thumb. “Thank you, ‘m sorry it’s you who has to see us like this.” Will can feel the rumble of James’ laugh from where his chest meets James’ back. “It isn't a problem Will, I’d rather nurse you back to feeling a hundred percent now than have to carry you off the stage because you pushed yourself too hard.”
James, ever the sweetheart, dishes out their dinner for them and carries the hot bowls of soup to the coffee table beside the couch. They eat in relative silence and Otto has taken a liking to Will’s thighs. The furry feline sprawled himself over Will’s legs and Will almost choked on his soup because he was giggling so much. Will doesn’t notice the loving looks James has been giving him, too focused on devouring the first proper meal he’s had in days. When they finish eating and the bowls have been discarded to the coffee table, Will finds himself leaning into James’ side again. It’s almost as if his body is trying to make up for all of the years he's gone without having someone by his side. “Don’t get too comfy, I still need to run you a bath, love” Will feels his body relax at the idea of hot water caressing his overworked bones. He feels James stand up and Will lets his body fall into the place James’ would’ve been. He can faintly hear water running from the bathroom down the hall and he lets his eyes slip shut once again.
He doesn’t fully fall asleep this time, more like a light doze and he gets a bit of a fright when James’ brushes a hand through the hair resting on Will’s forehead “Come on dancer, your bath is ready” Will takes the hand that is reached out to him and follows James into the hallway. “I’ve left a hoodie and joggers in there for when you're finished, take your time. You need all the relaxation you can get before the big day.” Will feels like he could kiss James, that train of thought scares him so instead he hugs the taller man quickly before retreating to the bathroom.
Will spends around an hour in the bath before the feeling of his skin pruning up gets too much for him, he drains the bath and dries himself off with a towel that is ridiculously soft, ‘posh bastard’ his mind screams at him. He runs his fingers through his wet hair and goes back out into the real world. He sees James sitting on his couch, snuggling Otto and Will can’t help but wonder if this was always going to happen. Maybe it already has, they wouldn't be dancers in that life, maybe some form of influencers getting up to no good. Maybe they were always destined to cross paths. The idea doesn’t horrify Will as much as it would’ve a couple weeks ago.
James must sense Will’s reappearance because he turns his head towards the sound of footsteps. “How was your bath?” Will just smiles softly at him, his heart feels fuzzy and he feels his breath stutter in adoration. “It was fine, thanks again, I needed this” James just smiled at him and patted the space beside him. Will took the offer gratefully. Feeling more at home in his dance partner's house than he has in his own flat in years.
—
The day of the recital Will feels overdressed and half overtired, he’s stood behind stage with James’ hands on his hips gently rocking him back and forth to some other performance before theirs as if this is some domestic scene in a shared living space and not backstage at a ballet performance, he’s practiced and ready, he knows every beat of the song and his adrenaline is so high he could probably go for a marathon right now but instead he leans against James and whispers gently as the other ballerinas scatter off stage, “You ready, lad?” and James nods against him. “Yea, born ready.” and Will believes him this time. The hate that he had at the beginning of the month has seeped into fondness and he’s the first to gracefully hit the performance floor. In place waiting for James to stand behind him and grab softly at his hips once more. The backups join them and the music starts and Will moves like waves crashing against shore. Graceful, elegant, all the words you would use to describe a swan swimming upon the top of a lake and when the foretold pas de deux arrives he doesn’t fall out of James grasp this time, his legs an impressive split down the middle before he’s back on the performance floor and set off into a pirouette.
The Dance ends with Will tight in James’ arms and Will stares into bright hazel eyes, his own steel blue flickering down to lips as the orchestra crescendos, he aggressively grabs at James’ face and presses a kiss to his lips at the last sounding of the violins, the only thing running through his brain being ‘oh fuck, I’m on stage.’ and then he pushes off James’ chest just to run offstage hearing the loud applause. James is running after him and he doesn’t care, he’s shoving his dance clothes into his bag and tugging off his pointe shoes as his breathing speeds up and lightly flapping his arms. He’s fucked it. Again . How do you go from hating someone to being infatuated with him? James comes up behind him and grabs his shoulder, “Relax!” Will flinches at the sudden noise and stares up at the younger, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not pissed?” James throws his head back in a laugh. “You were always the cutest in our class, don’t be daft. Come here.” James opens his arms for a hug and Will stands to fall into them.
Enveloped by sweet arms again like at the end of their performance, he breathes in vanilla and cedar and laughs gently. And then their instructor is rushing into the dressing room, “You two! Amazing work! Your passion is beautiful, your love on stage is palpable, I applaud you!” Will burrows his face into James’ collar and scoffs as James thanks her. Sure he had an ego but James’ was bigger and being fueled, he wanted to gag and kiss him at the same time. He settled for a kiss on the neck and watched how the light touch of lips made James’ face glow red.
They go back to Will’s apartment that night, walking back in silence until Will lightly nudges the other with his elbow and James laughs. They make it to Will’s flat, cleaned over the last month but still lived in and Will turns the radio on, the first song that plays is Rescue by Lauren Daigle , James presses a kiss to the top of Will head and hums, “I know your feet probably hurt like mine but, may I have this dance?” Will giggles airily and nods, lets James wrap his hand around his waist and grab his hand gently, rocking them back and forth in an informal way of slow dance. It’s late and the kitchen light is igniting the room a light orange, Will’s insides feel warm and there’s a soft smile on his face. “Marriott?” James raises an eyebrow. “Yes, Will?” He grins, “Kiss me again, will you?” And James grabs Will’s jaw and plants a kiss on Will’s lips, music flowing in the background as Will tastes burnt coffee and mint gum in his senses, they don’t go together but they taste like James and that’s what makes it good.
“Think you might be my muse.”
“Better than you hating me.”