Bowie flushed. “Shut up.”
“I will not. That was so hot. You’re so hot.”
“Should I tell Blandley that I met another sex milestone?” Bowie said around a giggle.
Javier smirked. “I’m sure he’ll be so proud of you.”
“Are you?” Bowie asked, flushing.
“Very. You’re amazing.”
Bowie closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. Maybe it was his post orgasmic haze but he heard himself say, “I don’t feel amazing.”
“You don’t?” Javier asked.
“Well, I do right now,” Bowie said, exaggerating thenowpart, keeping his eyes closed so he didn’t have to see Javier looking at him like he was still in a downward spiral. “But, lately, I feel like I’m losing my mind just a little. I wish you were here. Then you could tell me I’m imagining things.”
There was a weighted pause. “Imagining what, angel?”
Bowie’s eyes popped open at the sudden tension in Javier’s voice. “It’s nothing. I just… I just can’t shake this feeling I’m being watched. Blandley tells me its normal, PTSD stuff, but I’m starting to feel a little cuckoo for cocoa puffs, you know.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?” Javier’s sharpened tone was like a knife slipping between his ribcage, piercing his heart.
Bowie rolled over onto his side, trying to read Javier’s pinched expression. “I don’t know. Because I didn’t want to bother you? Because you’re a million miles away? Because talking to you is the only normal I get in a day and I didn’t want to ruin it with more of my crazy? Why are you mad at me?”
Javier’s whole face softened. “I’m not, angel. I don’t think I could ever be mad at you. I’m just worried. I’m sure it’s nothing, but, like you said, I’m a million miles away. I don’t like not being able to look out for you myself.”
“Why can’t you? Can’t you just come home? Do you really think they’re going to figure out what happened in that parking lot? They haven’t called me or anything. After my second interview with the suits, they sort of just dismissed me.”
“As far as you know. If the feds are watching you, you’ll be the last one to know. Still, this could be nothing or it could be something. I need to figure some things out. Put some buffers in place.”
Hope sent Bowie’s heart soaring like a helium balloon. “But then you’ll be home?”
Javier’s lips twisted into that smile Bowie hoped was just for him. “Yeah, angel. Then I’ll be home.”
Bowie couldn’t help the grin that split his face.
“Fuck, I miss that smile.”
“Then hurry home so you can see it in person.”
Javier wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. The few times he’d been to the building, it was teeming with people. Today, the place appeared empty but for one or two people Javier could see—a woman who sat behind a front desk with a headset on and a man sweeping a mop back and forth across the marble floor of the lobby. Behind a set of doors labeledBackstage, Javier could hear laughter and instruments being tuned, but he only cared about what lay at the end of that corridor full of mirrored rooms.
Bowie.
Lawson had kept tabs on him for the last two days while Javier found a way to get back into the States undetected, but his flight had landed an hour ago, and he didn’t want to wait for Bowie to finish his practice before seeing him again. He didn’t want to examine why that was too closely. He had told himself a hundred times that he was coming back to LA because Bowie might be in danger, but part of him knew he just couldn’t stand to be away from him any longer, no matter how unsafe it was for Javier to return so soon.
It wasn’t hard to find Bowie. Music swelled from the last studio. Not the classical music Javier had come to associate with ballet but something sad and moody that tugged at Javier’s insides. He approached the room cautiously. He didn’t want to startle Bowie, just surprise him.
But he did need to see Bowie with his own eyes, needed to know he was safe. He wasn’t expecting the almost painful squeeze in his chest at his first sight of him in the flesh. He didn’t see Javier; he was dancing with his eyes closed. Javier shook his head. Of course, he was. Javier wasn’t a terrible dancer when it came to a salsa but dancing with eyes closed seemed dangerous, especially with a slick floor and a room full of mirrors.
Bowie wasn’t wearing his usual dance tights. He had on lightweight joggers and a sleeveless black t-shirt that clung to him, showing off his incredibly toned body, the one Javier had gotten to see stretched out naked in his bed just a couple of nights ago. Javier’s cock throbbed at the memory. Bowie’s muscles contracting as he’d worked himself into his fist, Javier’s name falling from his lips. Fuck. Maybe he should have waited to surprise him at home.
He shook the thoughts away, forcing himself to focus on Bowie’s talent, not his body. And he was talented. Javier had been to the ballet before, had accompanied hisTíaSylvia to the ballet, the opera, and several orchestras. Hell, he’d even seenHamiltonwhen it toured LA. But Bowie’s dancing wasn’t ballet, at least none Javier had ever seen. It was impossible to tear his eyes away.
Bowie was just dancing for himself, dancing what he felt, his movements lyrical and flowing one moment and ugly and fractured the next, his body swelling and contracting with the music, telling a story that broke Javier’s heart.
Bowie was mid-spin when he opened his eyes and stumbled, gasping loud enough for Javier to hear it over the music. Then Bowie was running towards him, launching himself into his arms, wrapping his limbs around him even as Javier tried to maintain his balance.
