The next morning, Kim arrived at the theater at eight-thirty sharp and headed straight up to the rehearsal room, avoiding the office. He had just changed into his rehearsal gear—a faded black leotard, black pumps and a baggy tee, which though it had started life as a brilliant purple was now, through endless rehearsals and wear, a washed-out mauve—when the actor playing Anton arrived.
Dídac nodded brusquely at Kim and proceeded to change into his gear in another corner of the rehearsal room. They began stretching out and warming up separately. Today Dídac was also wearing purple: a tight-fitting spandex top in a deep royal tone, and a black leotard with a matching royal-purple stripe down the leg. The clothes hugged his body, showing off every muscle and sinew as he warmed up physically. Kim focused on his own warm-up, though he remained intensely aware of the physicality of young actor sharing the rehearsal space with him, noting his every exhalation and groan of exertion, almost as a soundtrack to which he moved.
Something was off, and Kim couldn’t work out what. All night Kim had been mulling over Dídac’s confession at the press conference. Had he really seen him inBoomerang? Had it really had such a profound effect? So, in a way, Kim was responsible for Dídac choosing his career. It felt like a huge weight to bear… on top of everything he had to cope with in directing the play. He would have to tread lightly with Dídac’s feelings from now on. He could not afford to jeopardize the production by unintentionally wounding its main star. Also, it had to be said, he no longer saw Dídac as the liability he had imagined when they started rehearsal. The actor’s work was superb, grounded and heartfelt, yet he absolutely knew how to fly on his emotions when the part demanded.
Why then was Dídac acting so frostily to him? Was there a way they could move on from their former antagonism? He stopped his workout, and turned to the actor.
“Dídac…”
The actor paused in his stretching, turning to face Kim. He stood there expectantly, and there was silence while Kim worked out what he was trying to say.
“Um… what you said… at the press conference… it was… so moving, so humbling. Did you really seeBoomerang? I had no idea.”
Dídac nodded. “Yeah. It was… you were… impressive.”
“And that did… that caused you to…?”
“Yeah, not only that. There were other factors. But that was the starting point, when I first decided to become an actor.”
But Dídac looked uncomfortable, even angry at having made the confession.
“It was really beautiful how you described it. You absolutely killed it with your audience. And they were a hard sell, I mean, theater critics! Those guys are cynics!”
Dídac laughed, but his eyes remained bitter.
“Well,” he said. “I’m glad I was able to help the production.”
He turned back to focus on his stretches again, his face grim. God, the arrogance! Well, Kim had tried, and that had gone down like a lead balloon. An angry retort rose on Kim’s tongue, but he swallowed it down as there was noise on the stairs, and Carme and Dana came in laughing together. He walked over to the corner and grabbed his notes, trying to focus on the matter at hand, today’s rehearsal. But after a minute, he couldn’t help himself and looked up, his eyes seeking out Dídac, who was now talking to Domènec, who had only just arrived. A surge of feeling rose up from within him. Clearly he was still affected by Dídac’s big confession. He had to get a grip on himself, be professional, and focus on directing this show.
It was the next morning in rehearsal. As always, it was Kim and Dídac who had arrived early, preferring to get in a more physical workout before the rest of the cast arrived. At least that’s what Kim told himself. Dídac’s attitude this morning seemed subtly different. Perhaps whatever had been troubling him the day before hadn’t come to pass. At least he’d lost some of that anger or bitterness he was nurturing. After several minutes of the two of them stretching separately, Kim took a chance, and suggested:
“Shall we do some exercises together?”
Dídac nodded and came over to stand before him. The ten minutes or so of workout they had done already, when even at that early hour the July heat had made itself felt, had brought up a sweat on them both.Kim’s muscular arms were covered in a light sheen, while damp patches of perspiration had darkened the armpits and chest of Dídac’s elastic top. As Dídac came close, Kim caught the odor of his sweat. It was possibly the first time they had been this close—at the first rehearsal the day before, he had kept more of a directorial distance—and Kim was knocked off guard by the exhilarating, real scent of the younger man’s perspiration.
“What would you like to do?”
Though initially meeting his eyes as he asked the question, Dídac quickly dropped his gaze, letting it rest on Kim’s chest. He was both one hundred percent present yet also tantalizingly distant. Kim wondered what it would take to make a real connection with him now after their initial disastrous meeting.
“Let’s work on weight and counterbalancing. Give me your arms.”
He reached out his hands and, the two men facing each other, they grasped each other’s wrists. Kim was a few inches taller, whereas Dídac was more broad-shouldered and muscular, but both were equally fit. It was the first time they had touched and the chemistry as they locked wrists was undeniable. Whereas Kim’s forearms were covered in fine blond, almost invisible hairs, the growth on Dídac’s was thick and dark. Kim immediately thought of the other’s chest, imagining the thick mat of curling black hair he was sure must be hidden by the man’s spandex top. Dídac’s firm grip on his wrists felt electric. His mouth went suddenly dry, but he forced speech:
“OK, let’s start with some simple ones. Keep your body straight and just lean back—take my weight.”
Some actors are more vocal and cerebral—what they call in the profession “talking heads”—and so are difficult to work with physically. Dídac was not one of those. Kim preferred all his actors to have astrong background in movement because his productions always had a strong physical aesthetic, bordering on dance. As his résumé showed, Dídac had a thorough training in classical and jazz ballet, as he had come up through the world of musical theater. Now, as he leaned out, easily counterbalancing Kim’s weight, even though his body was lighter, his professional training showed. They quickly moved from basic counterbalancing exercises to more advanced moves and poses. Dídac closely followed Kim’s lead, although once he intuited where the exercise was heading, he began to initiate himself, leaving Kim to learn how to respond to the young actor’s improvisational offers.
They worked together for several minutes, gradually increasing their physical contact. Kim would fold himself under Dídac, lifting the actor on his back. Then Dídac, grasping the director’s shoulder and twisting his torso, might bring a foot to find a support on Kim’s thigh, before lifting himself to place his other foot on Kim’s shoulder. Or, grasping one wrist firmly, Dídac would swing out, his body taut in an upward curve, letting Kim completely support his weight. Thus, they worked together, each using the other as physical support and counterweight to explore fresh physical shapes in the space. After several minutes, slippery with each other’s sweat, they quite spontaneously came to a halt. Standing chest to chest, panting in each other’s faces, they gazed for the first time deep into each other’s eyes. Dídac’s arms were around Kim’s torso, while Kim’s hands rested lightly on Dídac’s hips. Perhaps at the same time, each felt the warmth emanating from the other’s thighs and torso, pressed to his own, and the natural heat from the other’s groin, which the thin, stretchy fabric of their leotards did nothing to hide. Kim felt Dídac’s cock stir and stretch beneath the Lycra, and his own responded. Instantly his cock was fat and straining for release inside the dancer’s belt he always wore for rehearsals—a coiledsnake fighting against its prison. To Kim, Dídac smelt of wild horses, salt and some other intangible spice like cinnamon, one he could only associate with Barcelona, and with Dídac. The young man’s green eyes were wide and staring into his own. Finally he was seeing him without any barriers. His breath smelt faintly of coffee. His lips, full and slightly parted, looked soft and inviting, a light down of mustache growing across his top lip, matching the curling growth of beard on his cheeks. Kim found himself wondering what those lips would be like to kiss. He could feel Dídac’s heart hammering in his chest, like his own. Without quite knowing what he was doing, he moved his head gently forward. Dídac swallowed and his eyes half-closed. His lips felt as soft and warm against his own as Kim had hoped they would. Dídac opened his eyes fully again and those intense green irises were watching him, as Kim ventured with his tongue between Dídac’s gently parted lips. At the pressure of Kim’s tongue, Dídac’s mouth opened further, his own tongue coming to meet Kim’s, the two of them touching and entwining, performing a fresh improvisational dance within Dídac’s mouth, which felt hot, moist, and inviting.
Then Kim came to his senses. He pulled back and stepped away, dropping the embrace.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! That was totally unprofessional…”
The younger man looked confused and at a loss. His erection, easily visible in his leotard, formed a solid diagonal bar across his thigh, stretching the spandex, even leaving a tiny damp stain, where a drop of pre-cum had leaked from the tip.
“Uh, no… I…”
In vain, Dídac attempted to adjust his hard cock.
