Dance in the Dark, Chapter One
Title: Dance in the Dark, Chapter One
Rating: NC-17, overall.
Note: Please note the rating and acknowledge that you are accepting full responsibility for reading this. You have been warned.
Pairing: Bellamy/Howard
Bait: “The things I do to get shagged."
Word Count: 3267 +/-
Comments: Are LOVED
Disclaimer: I do not own any persons, places, themes, or elements in this; nor am I affiliated with the persons represented. Only the story is mine. No harm was intended by this.
HUGE thanks to the gorgeous millionstar for not only listening to me whine and be weird, but for helping me come up with the bakery's name. Seriously, this wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. You are amazing, and you'd better get used to hearing me say it.
Also, many thanks to the sweet dolce_piccante for letting me bounce ideas and being generally awesome.
And thank you to the sexy, adorably wonderful end1essly for beta'ing while my boo's computer is gone. I'm so lucky to have you in my pack. FORSURIOUS.
And this is a surprise for my formerly computerless wifey, shayunknown Good Gawd, woman, do NOT do that again, it SUCKS. rawr!!
The first flutterings of dread started when he walked into the actual studio.
Floor to ceiling mirrors stretched the length of an entire wall, mocking him. A bar parted the panes of glass to give him a few inches of relief, but still. He would not only be unable hide his lack of rhythm from the girl he came with, it would now be on full display for the entire class to see.
Not to mention he was the only bloke in the classroom.
I’m going make such a complete and utter pillock out of myself.
Around him, dozens of ladies stretched or rolled their arms, never breaking the light banter that flowed ceaselessly between them. Matt watched in awe as one bird in particular lifted her leg gracefully over her head, chatting to another woman who was busying herself by caking more lip gloss on, puckering and unpuckering her lips at her reflection in the glass.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so inundated by estrogen.
The things I do to get shagged.
Shuffling uncomfortably over to one of the brick walls under the pretense of stretching, he flashed a jagged smile at his date while cursing himself for having worn pointy toed loafers. All of his “classmates” were in trainers and lightweight pants, he noticed.
Except for one girl who was in a full on flamenco skirt and was donning fuck-me heels, though Matt could only speculate as to why.
Just then the music started, bursting through speakers mounted on the walls, booming so obnoxiously loud that Matt must have jumped a foot.
His date grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to her side, and he took advantage of their closeness in proximity to steal a glance down her dress. What little he could see did even less to impress him.
This is the last blind date I go on.
A raucous cheer from rose up from the gaggle of women at the sound of the bassline, which pounded into Matt’s head like a hammer. Add to that the grating blare of synthesized trumpets that assaulted the bodies of now-frenzied birds, and he was ready to make a run for it.
French doors nestled into the opposite wall, which he hadn’t noticed before, were flung open, and Matt caught a brief glimpse of blond hair and tight, silver pants before the crowd of women created a tight huddle around the newcomer.
What the bloody clusterfuck?
He stretched to the tip of his toes to try and get a good look at the bird who belonged to the flash of sweet calves he’d glimpsed, and felt his jaw drop when the sea of women parted and a lean, lithe man walked confidently to the front of the room.
Gawking, Matt felt himself pulled by his date while the rest of the class fell into some sort of formation - three rows of bodies arm lengths apart. From his spot in the back of the room he could see the instructor perfectly.
Wide, grey eyes, tousled hair, lush lips that were positively biteable, and a straight nose. His chin had a weak cleft in it but Matt could hardly notice it, as entranced as he became by the perfect V of collarbone that rested beneath it.
A tiny black shirt hugged the man’s torso nicely, accentuating the dip of his belly. And then there were those pants.
And... was he wearing black leather, silver studded fingerless gloves? Oh motherfuck, he is.
Matt still hadn’t shut his mouth when the man started talking.
“Hello, ladies,” he said in a crisp, clean voice. His eyes landed on Matt at the back of the room, lingering in obvious surprise for a fraction of a second. “And gentleman! Been a while since I’ve had another bloke in here with me. Welcome, mate!”
Mouth finally closed, Matt nodded at the instructor, blinking a few times to rid himself of the glare from the silver trousers.
“All right,” said the instructor, clapping his hands together before continuing. “For the newcomers, I’m Dominic Howard and I’d like to welcome you to my Monday Night Hip Hop Class. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Hip hop?
Panic skittered through Matt’s body, and a nervous sweat broke out on his brow. He’d been told nothing about hip hop. Tom had muttered something about taking dancing shoes, and Matt’s date may have hinted at ballrooms, but there had been no mention of hip hop.
I’m going to bloody strangle that sodding wanker.
He glanced at his date in desperation, but her eyes were glued to Mr. Tight Pants, her face rapt and attentive.
So much for shagging.
“The key to hip hop is making each movement pronounced,” Dominic’s voice brought Matt back to the classroom. The blond’s mouth quirked up in a lazy grin, which somehow infected Matt, who felt himself smiling in response, prompting his date to send him a look of confusion. He shrugged at her. “You’re not going to be thinking of graceful, sweeping motions when you’re crunking, that’s for sure.”
Matt’s stomach bubbled giddily as Dominic giggled before continuing. “The first thing I’m going to have you do is a basic side to side movement, just to kind of get us in the groove of things. Come on, then, you all have a go.”
Matt watched the blond’s fluid movements as he demonstrated the dance moves, making it seem easy enough. The class around him began to fall into the same, simple movement: stepping out to the left and bringing the other foot to touch before moving back to the right. By the time Matt had coaxed his own feet into mirroring Dominic - having only tripped twice and flailed uselessly once - he looked up to see that the instructor had begun to embellish his steps, eliciting a squeal of praise from a buxom ginger in the front.
“Why thank you, lovely,” Dominic grinned at the boobs, erm, woman. Matt watched with mild disgust as the woman positively fluttered under the endearment. “That’s a touch easier than what I’ve done with my dance group back at the university... here, let me show you.”
Dominic’s mouth tipped up in a cute little smile that crinkled his nose, and then he was off - that really was the only word for it. For the second time that evening, Matt found himself slack-jawed as the blond’s feet began to move, rolling in on themselves before fluidly straightening. In fact, the instructor’s body seemed nearly boneless in the way that he bent his body forward and back, yet somehow managed to jerk to the beat of the song behind him.
His feet maintained a concentrated yet rapid pace, baffling Matt so that he almost missed the way Dominic’s upper body jerked steadily forward until he was bent over double. No sooner than he touched the floor with his fingertips he started to pull them back up his writhing body, scraping them under the fabric of his shirt. With one hand thrown to his face in faux modesty, he used the other to pull the tiny black tee upward revealing inch by inch of tight, rippling skin. Matt saw the flicker of teeth as Dominic grinned when the women began to catcall and whoop raucously.
What a ridiculous twat.
Still, he couldn’t stop his echoing grin as the instructor brought his garish moves to an end and took an over-the-top bow.
For all his showing off, Dominic was an attentive instructor. Highly energetic, but attentive. More than once, Matt caught himself grinning in response to the utter look of bliss that would take over the blond’s features as he danced, cheeks flushed and hair dripping.
But he couldn’t deny that when Dominic noticed someone struggling with a step, he would make his way over to the student and help her until she got it right. He wasn’t entirely sure that a specific pupil was having that much trouble, but still.
He also couldn’t deny that he was craning his neck, along with his classmates, every time the instructor reached for the ceiling in hopes of catching another glimpse of skin.
As far as dancing went, Matt was a discombobulated mess. He felt like every other word from his mouth was “sorry, so sorry,” or that every five minutes someone was stooping to help him up off of the floor.
Even the six hundred pound Gran in the corner was putting Matt to shame, and she was only swaying, for fuck’s sake!
By the end of the night - after he had dragged himself back to his flat and fallen face first into the mattress - he could feel an ache in his bones, and several sore spots he knew would blossom into bruises by morning.
As predicted, his date had cited “previous commitments” after the class and dashed off, leaving Matt to return home to his empty bed. “Fuck her,” he growled at the mattress, which swallowed his sentiment apathetically.
Mumbling a few more obscenities into the duvet, he toed out of his loafers, and wriggled out of his trousers and boxers before kicking them to the floor. Scrunching his eyes shut, he began to unbutton his shirt, but somewhere in the process sleep claimed him for her own.
* * * * *
Matt felt as if he’d barely closed his eyes, having only just sunk into a light doze when he jolted awake, staring into the night, the remnants of his dream fading into blackness.
The bits he could recall were full of tight, toned skin, sweat drenched hair, and hot breath on his neck.
“Oh fuck,” he grumbled, suddenly wide awake and hyper aware of the aching between his legs. With deep, ragged breaths he ran long fingers over the ridges of his ribs, letting them drag lazily upward beneath the fabric of his shirt to swirl over the tightened nubs of his nipples.
Shit, that’s good.
His free hand drifted up the smooth, creamy column of his neck, over his cheeks and into his hair; he moaned lowly at the feel of his fingers combing over his own scalp. The throbbing in his groin pulled his attention to his neglected cock, so he dropped the hand at his nipple to tend to his erection.
Tight trousers, pulled over a sweet and perky arse. Full lips...
He wasn’t quite sure why his thoughts kept drifting back to the dance instructor, but damn, he simply couldn’t care when the pulsing between his legs intensified as images of those lips opening to moan Matt’s name assaulted his fevered mind.
He squeezed on an upstroke, dropping his fingers from his hair and jamming them into his mouth - sucking hard to keep from screaming. It wasn’t going to take long, he knew, bucking rhythmlessly into his fist while pulling moistened fingers from his lips to twirl around a nipple yet again.
One more fleeting thought of himself astride the hyper blond - riding hard, his hands gripping that gorgeous arse - sent him tumbling over the edge, crying out into the stillness of his room.
He didn’t quite know how to feel about the fact that - after having only met the other man mere hours earlier - he just had the best wank in a very long time inspired by those ludicrous pants. Despite the disturbing thought, as he stretched luxuriously and with a goofy grin stretched over his lips, he knew one thing: he had to see Dominic again.
* * * * *
“How’d it go then, Bells?”
Matt looked up from the tray of hot cinnamon buns that he was scooping icing over to meet the glittering eyes of Tom, his best mate and business partner.
“Was a fucking nightmare,” Matt groaned dramatically, clutching his chest and widening his eyes as if in the throes of a heart attack.
“She not hot enough for you?”
“Eh,” he pressed a finger into his eye, making Tom wince as he scratched, “not really my type. Bit high maintenance.”
Plus she went home to fap, having discovered I’m not exactly her cup of tea, either.
Matt lifted the tray towards Tom, nodding to the bakery display before pausing, feigning disgust. “Jee-zus Tom, button your shirt will you? You get chest hair on these beauties and I get a lawsuit.”
Tom swiped the tray from Matt’s hands, rolling his eyes as he walked out to the front and slid the gooey pastries into the main case. Seconds later, he was back. “So then, no luck at all with her, I take it?”
“Sorry, mate,” Matt grinned, not sorry in the least. He snapped his latex gloves off and wiped his sweaty palms on his apron. “I don’t think there’ll be a wedding any time soon.”
“Matt,” Tom rolled his eyes, “no one said anything about marriage. I just want you to get laid. I’m sick of you being so insufferably cranky.”
“I’m not cranky, you twat!” Matt grabbed a deformed bun that he’d set aside and dipped it into extra frosting before holding it out to Tom as a peace offering. “Eat my buns.”
Tom snorted, “Think I’ll pass on that one. It’s all wonky.”
“Whatever do you mean, man? My buns are perky and delectable and you love them!”
“The last time you made a go at me you were shitfaced,” Tom laughed, dodging the pastry that Matt launched at his face. He walked to the kitchen door and batted his eyes theatrically at the other man before continuing on to the sales floor, calling over his shoulder, “Think I’ll keep these buttons open and go for a raise.”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Matt muttered, cackling to himself as he pulled on new gloves. He glanced around quickly, eyes casting for something specific. “Oi! Where’s the fucking cookie scoop?”
He waited a beat before realizing that Tom wasn’t going to answer. WIth a shrug, he began to dig around, pausing for a second when he heard the jingle of the bell they kept at the front counter for patrons.
“Tom! Front, mate!”
He bumbled over to the economy-sized, stainless steel fridge and tugged it open, humming a bit as he gathered the necessary ingredients.
Butter, eggs, milk.....
The bell rang once more.
“Tom?” Matt called again, and was again greeted by silence. “Fucking wanker, probably reading in the loo again.”
He pulled off his gloves, momentarily lamenting their loss as he dropped them into the wastebin before heading out onto the floor. Without looking up he called, in the most obnoxious voice he could muster, “Welcome to Bellamy’s Buns, home of the firm and delicious!”
“Nice,” came the customer’s voice, thick with laughter.
Grinning, Matt looked up into very familiar grey eyes. Oh.
“Hello there,” said Dominic, a wide, bright smile on his lips.
Lips that I wanked off to last night, holy shit....
“Um, er, h-hi,” Matt ran his hand over his beet-red cheeks, wishing desperately that he could have the last five minutes of his life back. As far as first impressions went, Matt had not only made an arse out of himself in class the previous night, but he’d once again proven himself to be a total cock-up with cheesy puns.“What can I get for you?”
“Well,” said the blond, eyeing the trays that spread in the front display case. “I’m really here for my girlfriend. Her birthday’s coming up and-”
Matt looked up at the sudden halt in conversation to find big, beautiful gray eyes narrowed at him.
Well, shit.
“Hey,” those lush lips perked up even further, recognition dawning on Dominic’s face. “You’re the bloke who was in my class last night, aren’t you? Came in with a bird? Date, I presume, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Matt answered, with a rueful laugh. “Can’t say I did much dancing, though.”
“N’aww,” Dominic soothed, his eyes dancing teasingly, “you were a great pupil! Believe me, I’ve had loads of students fall with a basic march. Big blokes too - all there trying to pick up one of my regulars, the berks. At least you made it through the first five minutes.”
Matt laughed, blushing deeply when the blond winked at him. “Er, thanks.”
“So, you work here?”
“Own the place, actually.”
“Nice,” said the other man, eyebrows tickling his hairline as he was obviously impressed. “Then you’re the Bellamy who owns the famous buns? Never tried them, before, actually.”
“What’s that?” Matt laughed, feigning shock, “You’ve never tasted my buns? Oh, we can’t have that, now can we?”
Grabbing a sheet wax paper from the tissue box on the case, Matt waggled his eyebrows at Dominic. “Honey buns or cinnamon buns?”
“Oh god,” Dominic giggled, “um, honey?”
“Excellent choice,” Matt nodded, scooping out an especially gooey looking one and handing it to the blond. “I think it tastes better if you use your fingers, but I’ll just nip into the kitchen and grab you a spoon.”
“No, no,” Dominic said quickly, “I can use my fingers.”
To prove his point, he pulled off a big chunk of the pastry and shoved it into his mouth. His eyes widened for a split second and then went soft, his whole expression melting into pleasure.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned around the sticky lump in his mouth, “oh holy fuck that’s good.”
Matt was grinning maniacally as he watched the blond chew, Dominic’s feet doing a little tap dance in time to the rhythm of his jaw.
God, what I wouldn’t give to be the one to put that look on his face.
“So, you came in here for your girlfriend, right?”
“Yeah,” Dominic nodded, covering his lips with the back of his hand to hide his full mouth. “Her birthday’s coming up, and I wanted to order her a little cake or something like that. Gonna take her out, I reckon.”
Matt laughed at the blond’s flippancy, then pulled out his special order pad and began to write. “Any kind of cake you’re looking for, mate?”
“Um,” the blond shrugged and took another huge bite of his pastry, “I mean, cake is cake, right?”
“Dancing is dancing, right?”
“Touché,” Dominic laughed. “Okay then, whatever is your favorite. Make the icing purple - chicks dig purple, right?”
“Um, sure, why not? Anything you want it to say?”
“I dunno,” Dominic rolled his eyes up, lost in thought for a minute while he sucked glaze off of his fingertips. “‘Happy Birthday Lacey?”
“Easy enough,” Matt grinned. “Tell you what, I’ll embellish it and you can take credit.”
“You’re ace, man,” Dominic sighed, staring wistfully at his now empty wax paper. He licked his fingers one last time and then reached for his back pocket. “What do I owe you for the -”
Matt waved him off, “My treat. So, I’ll call you in a few, then, right?”
Dom handed him his card. “Right. Well, here’s my card with a number you can reach me at. And, um.. well I guess that’s it.” He giggled and shrugged awkwardly. “Thanks man, for everything.”
Matt nodded at the other man. “Yeah, anytime. See you, then.”
“Yeah,” said Dominic, turning to leave. “See you.”
Matt watched - eyes lingering on those shapely legs - as the blond sauntered out, waving over his shoulder.
“You fancy him.”
Matt spun around to find Tom leaning against one of the pink walls of the bakery with a sad little smile playing at his lips.
“Yeah,” Matt nodded, looking at the floor with a sudden rush of shyness. “I think I do.”
A moment of pregnant silence rested between them before Tom said quietly, “Then you should’ve made him try the cinnamon buns.”
Rating: NC-17, overall.
Note: Please note the rating and acknowledge that you are accepting full responsibility for reading this. You have been warned.
Pairing: Bellamy/Howard
Bait: “The things I do to get shagged."
Word Count: 3267 +/-
Comments: Are LOVED
Disclaimer: I do not own any persons, places, themes, or elements in this; nor am I affiliated with the persons represented. Only the story is mine. No harm was intended by this.
HUGE thanks to the gorgeous millionstar for not only listening to me whine and be weird, but for helping me come up with the bakery's name. Seriously, this wouldn't be here if it weren't for you. You are amazing, and you'd better get used to hearing me say it.
Also, many thanks to the sweet dolce_piccante for letting me bounce ideas and being generally awesome.
And thank you to the sexy, adorably wonderful end1essly for beta'ing while my boo's computer is gone. I'm so lucky to have you in my pack. FORSURIOUS.
And this is a surprise for my formerly computerless wifey, shayunknown Good Gawd, woman, do NOT do that again, it SUCKS. rawr!!
The first flutterings of dread started when he walked into the actual studio.
Floor to ceiling mirrors stretched the length of an entire wall, mocking him. A bar parted the panes of glass to give him a few inches of relief, but still. He would not only be unable hide his lack of rhythm from the girl he came with, it would now be on full display for the entire class to see.
Not to mention he was the only bloke in the classroom.
I’m going make such a complete and utter pillock out of myself.
Around him, dozens of ladies stretched or rolled their arms, never breaking the light banter that flowed ceaselessly between them. Matt watched in awe as one bird in particular lifted her leg gracefully over her head, chatting to another woman who was busying herself by caking more lip gloss on, puckering and unpuckering her lips at her reflection in the glass.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so inundated by estrogen.
The things I do to get shagged.
Shuffling uncomfortably over to one of the brick walls under the pretense of stretching, he flashed a jagged smile at his date while cursing himself for having worn pointy toed loafers. All of his “classmates” were in trainers and lightweight pants, he noticed.
Except for one girl who was in a full on flamenco skirt and was donning fuck-me heels, though Matt could only speculate as to why.
Just then the music started, bursting through speakers mounted on the walls, booming so obnoxiously loud that Matt must have jumped a foot.
His date grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to her side, and he took advantage of their closeness in proximity to steal a glance down her dress. What little he could see did even less to impress him.
This is the last blind date I go on.
A raucous cheer from rose up from the gaggle of women at the sound of the bassline, which pounded into Matt’s head like a hammer. Add to that the grating blare of synthesized trumpets that assaulted the bodies of now-frenzied birds, and he was ready to make a run for it.
French doors nestled into the opposite wall, which he hadn’t noticed before, were flung open, and Matt caught a brief glimpse of blond hair and tight, silver pants before the crowd of women created a tight huddle around the newcomer.
What the bloody clusterfuck?
He stretched to the tip of his toes to try and get a good look at the bird who belonged to the flash of sweet calves he’d glimpsed, and felt his jaw drop when the sea of women parted and a lean, lithe man walked confidently to the front of the room.
Gawking, Matt felt himself pulled by his date while the rest of the class fell into some sort of formation - three rows of bodies arm lengths apart. From his spot in the back of the room he could see the instructor perfectly.
Wide, grey eyes, tousled hair, lush lips that were positively biteable, and a straight nose. His chin had a weak cleft in it but Matt could hardly notice it, as entranced as he became by the perfect V of collarbone that rested beneath it.
A tiny black shirt hugged the man’s torso nicely, accentuating the dip of his belly. And then there were those pants.
And... was he wearing black leather, silver studded fingerless gloves? Oh motherfuck, he is.
Matt still hadn’t shut his mouth when the man started talking.
“Hello, ladies,” he said in a crisp, clean voice. His eyes landed on Matt at the back of the room, lingering in obvious surprise for a fraction of a second. “And gentleman! Been a while since I’ve had another bloke in here with me. Welcome, mate!”
Mouth finally closed, Matt nodded at the instructor, blinking a few times to rid himself of the glare from the silver trousers.
“All right,” said the instructor, clapping his hands together before continuing. “For the newcomers, I’m Dominic Howard and I’d like to welcome you to my Monday Night Hip Hop Class. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Hip hop?
Panic skittered through Matt’s body, and a nervous sweat broke out on his brow. He’d been told nothing about hip hop. Tom had muttered something about taking dancing shoes, and Matt’s date may have hinted at ballrooms, but there had been no mention of hip hop.
I’m going to bloody strangle that sodding wanker.
He glanced at his date in desperation, but her eyes were glued to Mr. Tight Pants, her face rapt and attentive.
So much for shagging.
“The key to hip hop is making each movement pronounced,” Dominic’s voice brought Matt back to the classroom. The blond’s mouth quirked up in a lazy grin, which somehow infected Matt, who felt himself smiling in response, prompting his date to send him a look of confusion. He shrugged at her. “You’re not going to be thinking of graceful, sweeping motions when you’re crunking, that’s for sure.”
Matt’s stomach bubbled giddily as Dominic giggled before continuing. “The first thing I’m going to have you do is a basic side to side movement, just to kind of get us in the groove of things. Come on, then, you all have a go.”
Matt watched the blond’s fluid movements as he demonstrated the dance moves, making it seem easy enough. The class around him began to fall into the same, simple movement: stepping out to the left and bringing the other foot to touch before moving back to the right. By the time Matt had coaxed his own feet into mirroring Dominic - having only tripped twice and flailed uselessly once - he looked up to see that the instructor had begun to embellish his steps, eliciting a squeal of praise from a buxom ginger in the front.
“Why thank you, lovely,” Dominic grinned at the boobs, erm, woman. Matt watched with mild disgust as the woman positively fluttered under the endearment. “That’s a touch easier than what I’ve done with my dance group back at the university... here, let me show you.”
Dominic’s mouth tipped up in a cute little smile that crinkled his nose, and then he was off - that really was the only word for it. For the second time that evening, Matt found himself slack-jawed as the blond’s feet began to move, rolling in on themselves before fluidly straightening. In fact, the instructor’s body seemed nearly boneless in the way that he bent his body forward and back, yet somehow managed to jerk to the beat of the song behind him.
His feet maintained a concentrated yet rapid pace, baffling Matt so that he almost missed the way Dominic’s upper body jerked steadily forward until he was bent over double. No sooner than he touched the floor with his fingertips he started to pull them back up his writhing body, scraping them under the fabric of his shirt. With one hand thrown to his face in faux modesty, he used the other to pull the tiny black tee upward revealing inch by inch of tight, rippling skin. Matt saw the flicker of teeth as Dominic grinned when the women began to catcall and whoop raucously.
What a ridiculous twat.
Still, he couldn’t stop his echoing grin as the instructor brought his garish moves to an end and took an over-the-top bow.
For all his showing off, Dominic was an attentive instructor. Highly energetic, but attentive. More than once, Matt caught himself grinning in response to the utter look of bliss that would take over the blond’s features as he danced, cheeks flushed and hair dripping.
But he couldn’t deny that when Dominic noticed someone struggling with a step, he would make his way over to the student and help her until she got it right. He wasn’t entirely sure that a specific pupil was having that much trouble, but still.
He also couldn’t deny that he was craning his neck, along with his classmates, every time the instructor reached for the ceiling in hopes of catching another glimpse of skin.
As far as dancing went, Matt was a discombobulated mess. He felt like every other word from his mouth was “sorry, so sorry,” or that every five minutes someone was stooping to help him up off of the floor.
Even the six hundred pound Gran in the corner was putting Matt to shame, and she was only swaying, for fuck’s sake!
By the end of the night - after he had dragged himself back to his flat and fallen face first into the mattress - he could feel an ache in his bones, and several sore spots he knew would blossom into bruises by morning.
As predicted, his date had cited “previous commitments” after the class and dashed off, leaving Matt to return home to his empty bed. “Fuck her,” he growled at the mattress, which swallowed his sentiment apathetically.
Mumbling a few more obscenities into the duvet, he toed out of his loafers, and wriggled out of his trousers and boxers before kicking them to the floor. Scrunching his eyes shut, he began to unbutton his shirt, but somewhere in the process sleep claimed him for her own.
* * * * *
Matt felt as if he’d barely closed his eyes, having only just sunk into a light doze when he jolted awake, staring into the night, the remnants of his dream fading into blackness.
The bits he could recall were full of tight, toned skin, sweat drenched hair, and hot breath on his neck.
“Oh fuck,” he grumbled, suddenly wide awake and hyper aware of the aching between his legs. With deep, ragged breaths he ran long fingers over the ridges of his ribs, letting them drag lazily upward beneath the fabric of his shirt to swirl over the tightened nubs of his nipples.
Shit, that’s good.
His free hand drifted up the smooth, creamy column of his neck, over his cheeks and into his hair; he moaned lowly at the feel of his fingers combing over his own scalp. The throbbing in his groin pulled his attention to his neglected cock, so he dropped the hand at his nipple to tend to his erection.
Tight trousers, pulled over a sweet and perky arse. Full lips...
He wasn’t quite sure why his thoughts kept drifting back to the dance instructor, but damn, he simply couldn’t care when the pulsing between his legs intensified as images of those lips opening to moan Matt’s name assaulted his fevered mind.
He squeezed on an upstroke, dropping his fingers from his hair and jamming them into his mouth - sucking hard to keep from screaming. It wasn’t going to take long, he knew, bucking rhythmlessly into his fist while pulling moistened fingers from his lips to twirl around a nipple yet again.
One more fleeting thought of himself astride the hyper blond - riding hard, his hands gripping that gorgeous arse - sent him tumbling over the edge, crying out into the stillness of his room.
He didn’t quite know how to feel about the fact that - after having only met the other man mere hours earlier - he just had the best wank in a very long time inspired by those ludicrous pants. Despite the disturbing thought, as he stretched luxuriously and with a goofy grin stretched over his lips, he knew one thing: he had to see Dominic again.
* * * * *
“How’d it go then, Bells?”
Matt looked up from the tray of hot cinnamon buns that he was scooping icing over to meet the glittering eyes of Tom, his best mate and business partner.
“Was a fucking nightmare,” Matt groaned dramatically, clutching his chest and widening his eyes as if in the throes of a heart attack.
“She not hot enough for you?”
“Eh,” he pressed a finger into his eye, making Tom wince as he scratched, “not really my type. Bit high maintenance.”
Plus she went home to fap, having discovered I’m not exactly her cup of tea, either.
Matt lifted the tray towards Tom, nodding to the bakery display before pausing, feigning disgust. “Jee-zus Tom, button your shirt will you? You get chest hair on these beauties and I get a lawsuit.”
Tom swiped the tray from Matt’s hands, rolling his eyes as he walked out to the front and slid the gooey pastries into the main case. Seconds later, he was back. “So then, no luck at all with her, I take it?”
“Sorry, mate,” Matt grinned, not sorry in the least. He snapped his latex gloves off and wiped his sweaty palms on his apron. “I don’t think there’ll be a wedding any time soon.”
“Matt,” Tom rolled his eyes, “no one said anything about marriage. I just want you to get laid. I’m sick of you being so insufferably cranky.”
“I’m not cranky, you twat!” Matt grabbed a deformed bun that he’d set aside and dipped it into extra frosting before holding it out to Tom as a peace offering. “Eat my buns.”
Tom snorted, “Think I’ll pass on that one. It’s all wonky.”
“Whatever do you mean, man? My buns are perky and delectable and you love them!”
“The last time you made a go at me you were shitfaced,” Tom laughed, dodging the pastry that Matt launched at his face. He walked to the kitchen door and batted his eyes theatrically at the other man before continuing on to the sales floor, calling over his shoulder, “Think I’ll keep these buttons open and go for a raise.”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Matt muttered, cackling to himself as he pulled on new gloves. He glanced around quickly, eyes casting for something specific. “Oi! Where’s the fucking cookie scoop?”
He waited a beat before realizing that Tom wasn’t going to answer. WIth a shrug, he began to dig around, pausing for a second when he heard the jingle of the bell they kept at the front counter for patrons.
“Tom! Front, mate!”
He bumbled over to the economy-sized, stainless steel fridge and tugged it open, humming a bit as he gathered the necessary ingredients.
Butter, eggs, milk.....
The bell rang once more.
“Tom?” Matt called again, and was again greeted by silence. “Fucking wanker, probably reading in the loo again.”
He pulled off his gloves, momentarily lamenting their loss as he dropped them into the wastebin before heading out onto the floor. Without looking up he called, in the most obnoxious voice he could muster, “Welcome to Bellamy’s Buns, home of the firm and delicious!”
“Nice,” came the customer’s voice, thick with laughter.
Grinning, Matt looked up into very familiar grey eyes. Oh.
“Hello there,” said Dominic, a wide, bright smile on his lips.
Lips that I wanked off to last night, holy shit....
“Um, er, h-hi,” Matt ran his hand over his beet-red cheeks, wishing desperately that he could have the last five minutes of his life back. As far as first impressions went, Matt had not only made an arse out of himself in class the previous night, but he’d once again proven himself to be a total cock-up with cheesy puns.“What can I get for you?”
“Well,” said the blond, eyeing the trays that spread in the front display case. “I’m really here for my girlfriend. Her birthday’s coming up and-”
Matt looked up at the sudden halt in conversation to find big, beautiful gray eyes narrowed at him.
Well, shit.
“Hey,” those lush lips perked up even further, recognition dawning on Dominic’s face. “You’re the bloke who was in my class last night, aren’t you? Came in with a bird? Date, I presume, yeah?”
“Yeah,” Matt answered, with a rueful laugh. “Can’t say I did much dancing, though.”
“N’aww,” Dominic soothed, his eyes dancing teasingly, “you were a great pupil! Believe me, I’ve had loads of students fall with a basic march. Big blokes too - all there trying to pick up one of my regulars, the berks. At least you made it through the first five minutes.”
Matt laughed, blushing deeply when the blond winked at him. “Er, thanks.”
“So, you work here?”
“Own the place, actually.”
“Nice,” said the other man, eyebrows tickling his hairline as he was obviously impressed. “Then you’re the Bellamy who owns the famous buns? Never tried them, before, actually.”
“What’s that?” Matt laughed, feigning shock, “You’ve never tasted my buns? Oh, we can’t have that, now can we?”
Grabbing a sheet wax paper from the tissue box on the case, Matt waggled his eyebrows at Dominic. “Honey buns or cinnamon buns?”
“Oh god,” Dominic giggled, “um, honey?”
“Excellent choice,” Matt nodded, scooping out an especially gooey looking one and handing it to the blond. “I think it tastes better if you use your fingers, but I’ll just nip into the kitchen and grab you a spoon.”
“No, no,” Dominic said quickly, “I can use my fingers.”
To prove his point, he pulled off a big chunk of the pastry and shoved it into his mouth. His eyes widened for a split second and then went soft, his whole expression melting into pleasure.
“Oh, fuck,” he moaned around the sticky lump in his mouth, “oh holy fuck that’s good.”
Matt was grinning maniacally as he watched the blond chew, Dominic’s feet doing a little tap dance in time to the rhythm of his jaw.
God, what I wouldn’t give to be the one to put that look on his face.
“So, you came in here for your girlfriend, right?”
“Yeah,” Dominic nodded, covering his lips with the back of his hand to hide his full mouth. “Her birthday’s coming up, and I wanted to order her a little cake or something like that. Gonna take her out, I reckon.”
Matt laughed at the blond’s flippancy, then pulled out his special order pad and began to write. “Any kind of cake you’re looking for, mate?”
“Um,” the blond shrugged and took another huge bite of his pastry, “I mean, cake is cake, right?”
“Dancing is dancing, right?”
“Touché,” Dominic laughed. “Okay then, whatever is your favorite. Make the icing purple - chicks dig purple, right?”
“Um, sure, why not? Anything you want it to say?”
“I dunno,” Dominic rolled his eyes up, lost in thought for a minute while he sucked glaze off of his fingertips. “‘Happy Birthday Lacey?”
“Easy enough,” Matt grinned. “Tell you what, I’ll embellish it and you can take credit.”
“You’re ace, man,” Dominic sighed, staring wistfully at his now empty wax paper. He licked his fingers one last time and then reached for his back pocket. “What do I owe you for the -”
Matt waved him off, “My treat. So, I’ll call you in a few, then, right?”
Dom handed him his card. “Right. Well, here’s my card with a number you can reach me at. And, um.. well I guess that’s it.” He giggled and shrugged awkwardly. “Thanks man, for everything.”
Matt nodded at the other man. “Yeah, anytime. See you, then.”
“Yeah,” said Dominic, turning to leave. “See you.”
Matt watched - eyes lingering on those shapely legs - as the blond sauntered out, waving over his shoulder.
“You fancy him.”
Matt spun around to find Tom leaning against one of the pink walls of the bakery with a sad little smile playing at his lips.
“Yeah,” Matt nodded, looking at the floor with a sudden rush of shyness. “I think I do.”
A moment of pregnant silence rested between them before Tom said quietly, “Then you should’ve made him try the cinnamon buns.”