The Stage: Act 2

My second performance. Must have been fairly drunk by then because I can't remember everything exactly... feh.

"Perform with me!"

You haven't put your clothes back on from your last performance, and you're in the middle of dancing backstage, barefoot, in your underwear, with the rest of the membership, when the Emperor excitedly ambushes you.

You raise your eyebrows at him.

"What do you want to do? You have to give me a clear idea. I'm not going to go onstage and just... fumble around..."

"I don't know, you could strip me or something..."

Before you can say anything, a new song comes on and he walks down the runway, starts unbuttoning his shirt, then turns around, reaching his hand out towards you, unmistakably beckoning you to join him.

You shrug your shoulders - oh, what the hell - and step onto the stage for a second time as the crowd cheers.

You loosen his tie and coax it off over his head, push his shirt off his shoulders and toss it haphazardly to one side of the stage. Then comes the binder. Fuck, that thing is tight. "Just keep pulling," he says, and you do, coaxing it over his breasts, then off.

And he's pushing you to the floor, ghosting his lips down your body as you squirm - they want a show so they'll get it. When his mouth reaches your center, your back arches in earnest. All of a sudden, he's off you and pulling you back up. He keeps moving. Makes you keep moving. He's picking you up now - his strong, thick forearms must be tensing; why is that a turn on? On his first try, he hadn't gotten his balance quite right and almost falls backwards - "don't pick me up if you're going to drop me!" you yell - on his second try he's successful, and your arms wrap around his neck; legs around his waist. He holds you there and grinds against you.

You're dimly aware that a bunch of people have joined you on the runway when he puts you down. You face him, pull at his waistband, fumbling to undo his pants. Then you matter-of-factly yank them down to his ankles, and work your way back up his body, mouthing his crotch through his grey cotton boxers, closing your eyes and breathing in, continuing up between the valley of his breasts and finally giving in to the urge to kiss him. His hand comes up behind your head and you think of the crowd, there, watching you, watching your pleasure.

You hadn't kissed him for more than a few seconds and the music stops. Immediately, you jump off the stage and stand with the rest of the members. No music means no magic spell. You're starting to feel embarrassed but strangely pleased, hands coming up to cover your face. You can't believe you just did that. The fact that it was completely unplanned and honest just makes it that much more intimate, and your intimacy was just witnessed by at least a hundred fellow students...

He stays on the stage for a moment, heckling the DJ for ending the song too soon, and eventually jumps down as well. The music swells again as a new performance starts. He comes over to you and says, in your ear, "Why does this always happen?"

"What?" you asked, dazed, confused.

He takes your hand, pushes your palm against his boxers, and you can feel his softness through the thin material; feel the heat pooling there.

"I always get so turned on by you."

You can't do anything but lick your dry lips, swallow, and feel.

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