Page 26 of Off Balance

Blinking across the ring, I notice Ray in his corner. He's not looking any worse for wear, nodding to something his trainer is saying in his ear.

"What time is it?" I ask Dwayne.

"What?"

"The time? What time is it?"

"Just past eight-thirty," he says, incredulously. "Why?"

I shake him off, mentally calculating how long it'll take me to get out of here and across town to the theater.

When the next bell rings, I find my footing quickly. We dance around each other for a while, and I realize that he's probably trying to tire me out. I move in more aggressively, and Ray puts up a good fight, but I quickly get under his guard and get him against the ropes. I get a rough uppercut in that leaves Ray wobbly, and the ref gets between us. He stops the bout, and I back off.

A medic and trainer run to Ray's side, and the ref comes over to where I'm standing. He lifts my arm in the air, declaring me the winner. For the first time tonight, the roar of the crowd breaks through my fog.

By the time I make it across town, the theater looks mostly empty. I think I've missed him, but then I see Alistar's town car pull up. The driver gets out and holds open the door while Cameron and hisboyfriend climb in, and then they’re gone. I rushed all this way just for a glimpse of him leaving with another man. It’s for the best, though. I needed the reminder.

Cameron cancels our ballet training on Monday, and again on Tuesday. He said in his texts that he's tired. I believe that he's tired. He'd have to be with the rigorous training and performance schedule he maintains. But I don't believe it's why he's been canceling.

I royally screwed things up. I’ve probably made him uncomfortable, and now he doesn’t want to see me anymore. Maybe he thinks that since I won the fight this weekend, I don’t need him after all. But I’m not convinced it wasn’t a fluke, and neither is Dwayne.

What am I doing?

I'm not thinking, that's for sure. I can't, not where Cameron is concerned. He's infiltrated my every waking moment, and now even my dreams are haunted by flashes of long, slender limbs and puffy lips. I've taken more than one fair shot to the face because I'm not paying attention in training, and I broke a speedbag this afternoon because it's the only thing I can take out all of this frustration and energy on.

Dwayne is set on holding me back from any fights for a while, but I need to find something to do with this buzzing need taking over me.

Christ.It's probably a good thing Cameron is pulling away. Because even if I could get past all the reasons why getting close to him is wrong, how could I ever touch him without losing control?

I sit up in bed, another dream of Cameron buzzing just behind my consciousness. All I can remember of the dream is him dancing in a darkened room. He was looking up, reaching towards a light and spinning. Some kind of gauzy fabric weaved between his arms and around his torso, hiding his naked body from my desperate gaze.

The shadow of the dream presses against me. I lay back again, staring at the way the lights from the city and passing cars cast a dim glow across the high ceiling. My hand pushes against my cock, hard and aching from the dream. Whenever I'm alone, a series of images plays on a loop, and I'm sure this dream will make the list.

I don't allow myself to pretend, to imagine what it would be like to have Cameron. On his knees, on top of me, below me. My mind berates itself for even considering pushing myself inside him and making him mine. It feels too violent, when all my feelings about Cameron are softer than that. I don't know how to make love to someone. That’s what he deserves.

What I do allow myself to imagine is what it might be like to touch him. Softly running my hands up his shapely legs, cupping his ass, kissing every inch of his lithe, perfect body. Combing my hands through his silky hair. Licking the sweat from his skin.

My mind goes over images of things I've never done before, again and again, so many times that I looked up porn videos for the express purpose of seeing how accurate my imagination might be. I even pressed a thick carrot into the back of my throat just to see how far back I could go.

Right now, all it takes is to replay the dream. The sheer fabric moving across his skin, hinting at every curve and dip of his ass, the bulge that I'm so curious about. My hand pushes into my boxer briefs and pulls my cock out, my grip tightening at the end of each long stroke as I remember the curve of his spine when he bent backwards to better see the light. I squeeze at the slight bend in my cock, forcing it straight with each stroke. I pull up on my balls and imagine I can feel his breath across my lips again. I want so badly to touch my lips against his, just barely enough to feel more than heat. To rub them back and forth against his. To steal his softness and make it my own.

Dream Cameron turns his head to look at me, and my cock explodes the moment we make eye contact. Cum splashes over my abs and drips down my fist. I grip myself tighter, punishing myself for being so weak. With a firm grasp, I pump myself until I'm well past the pain of overstimulation. I keep going, violently shuttling my fist up and down my shaft, harshly pushing back the foreskin with each stroke until the bare head of my cock is deep purple and weeping. My grunts echo in the cavernous room as I bring myself as close as possible to another orgasm, then stop with a choked, "No!"

I'm closer to tears than I've been since our mother died, just out of sheer exhaustion and overstimulation. My brain is too full, my body wants things it can't handle, and I'm so close to the edge of emotionally unhinged that I want to scream.

Instead, I listen to the soft beat of music playing somewhere nearby. I can't make out the song, only a familiar slow thumping base. My heart rate slows, trying to imitate the soft beat. The song stops, and I wait for another one to take its place, but it sounds like the same song being played over again.

Scrambling off the bed, I run to my front door and crack it open. Sure enough, the music is coming from inside the building. The studio.

I’m halfway through the door before I remember I'm wearing nothing but boxer briefs and the evidence of my shameful thoughts. After running to the bathroom and hastily wiping myself down, I pull on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Opening the door again, I step in to the hallway and tip toe towards the studio. I knock softly, but it’s not heard over the music. Without even contemplating if Cameron might prefer his privacy, I try the handle. It turns, and I push the door open enough to look inside. The overhead lights aren't on, only a floor lamp near the shelves with the music system.

Cameron is near the back of the studio, facing away from me. He moves with a grace and sensuality that only he could master. He's wearing a pair of black leggings, the top folded down below his hipbones. His chest and feet are bare, hair wet with sweat and flopping over his forehead. This isn't a dance from the show that I've now secretly seen four times. It's less structured and more passionate.

The song is slow and haunting, a cover of a song I've heard before. The lyrics hit me deep in my gut and pull me further into the spell Cameron weaves with his dance. Keeping to the outside of the room where the lamplight doesn't reach, I hide in a corner next to a punching bag that wasn’t here the other day. Crouching next to it, I lean with my back against the brick wall and watch with rapt attention as the instrumentals behind the lyrics build. Cameron's emotions pour from him as he leaps, spins, and then falls to the floor as the singer cries about how they don't want to fall in love.

My heart is beating so fast and so loud, I'm surprised he doesn’t hear it. I watch him restart the song, retry positions and complicated dance moves, going through multiple passes of each part of the music over and over again.

I stay, watching him from the shadows, until the early hours of the morning. As he packs up his things, I wonder how to explain my presence. Should I lie about how long I’ve been here, hiding, watching him?

---