[I reblogged this from a normal dance Tumblr, so for anyone who is seeing this post from there – take note the story below is NSFW and contains gay content.]

I never used to be early, ever. Since I dedicated my life to dance, I lived in a constant state of fatigue and stress and would sleep as much as possible. When I joined this company in London, I soon found a reason for being a bit more punctual – a 164 centimeter reason in white leggings, that is.

I opened the rehearsal hall door and smiled at the sight of Lambert spread out over this tacky red drop cloth on a prop sofa. He was a male, but he was a stereotypical prima-donna ballerina. Who else lounges around in leg-warmers and practice slippers? I smiled at the sigh of his curves neatly outlined by the sheer fabric. Lambert was one of our shortest male dancers, and by far the most feminine. He was the only male dancer that could squeeze in Bernadette’s little pointe shoes and wear them like a princess. Despite his size, that buff little man was the principal dancer in the company – and it wasn’t because his family name was emblazoned above the door.

I was impressed by Lambert, and inspired. Also, I was charmed by his dramatic streak and flair for fuss. When I first met him, Lambert put his hands on his hips and huffed at me for mispronouncing his name, “It’s LAMber, not lamBERT!” he insisted with a perfect French accent. He pouted at me with those cupid bow lips that begged for kissing. When Lambert was dressed up in powder and lipstick for performance nights, I was beyond relieved to have a cup to hide my erection behind.

Lambert looked up as I set my duffel back down. “Bonjour,” he replied.
“Hello,” I replied with my American accent. I strolled over to him. “What are you reading?”
Lambert turned the page. “I’m studying the program from when the Joffrey did their production of this show. The reviews were insane, people were raving about it! They packed theaters. I’m wondering howt hey did it, since the script is a bit weak, and the choreography a bit aged. Somehow the Joffrey was able to make some tweaks to improve it without angering the conservatives. The use of color in the costumes alone is incredible…”
A throb of jealousy pulses through me. No matter waht I do, no matter how much time I put into practice or exercising at the gym, no matter how hard I study, I will never be at Lambert’s level. I cannot match his dedication. To him, dancing is a religion.

I console my inferiority by cupping my hand and running my palm over the swell of his calves. “Mmmmmmm,” Lambert purrs under me. The touch slides up his thigh and slows as it crests over the sculpted muscle of his butt. As my hand moves up his leg, he arches up into my touch like a rather hedonistic housecat. I guide my hand backwards and down his elevated hips, between his legs and stroke his bulge firmly trapped in tight underwear. Lamber groans and buries his face in the pillow. “John, Johnny not – now, please, I am very sensitive and must wait to be horny after practice.”
I cluck at him with faux disappointment and my hand migrates back up, squeezing his balls a little, before sliding up his ass and resting on his back. I perch on the edge of the sofa next to him and run my flattened palm over his solid back. “Oh that feels good,” Lambert admits.

I immediately begin to give him a back and shoulder massage. Lambert sets the program aside and nuzzles his face into a pillow. Soon, he’s making some delightful noises as I work the stiffness from his upper body.
“Mon dieu,” Lambert says, “I hate that I’ll never be as strong as you.”

I flush under rare praise. I am bigger, so statistically, it’s probably true, but still, it’s hard to believe I can best Lambert in any category.
“Well, you are more flexible, beautiful, and graceful, you don’t need my strength.”
“I still want it. Mmnf. My hands get tired so quickly when I try to do this my feet or something.”
I work Lambert’s shoulders in my hands. “You need to relax more. You’re so tight.”
“Fuck,” he sighs. He never curses in practice or on stage. I am delighted to hear him slip in the rehearsal room. A moment later, I know why he’s slipped because he says: “It’s too late.”
“What’s too late?”
“I’m too aroused right now. I can’t dance when I’m horny.”
“Suck me,” I beg, now unable to think of anything else.

Lambert looks up at me with beautiful clear blue eyes. “Here? Now? People will be here any minute…”

But I am already standing and extracting my half-hard penis out of my sweatpants. His eyes light up at the offer of this treat so early int he day. Lambert’s hand rises to meet me. Lambert loves to play with me. It’s a weakness he wont admit to, I’m sure. He swings his legs over so he can sit up, and with a sigh of defeat, wraps his lips around me. I place a hand on the back of the sofa, one knee on the seat cushion, one foot on the floor, and the other hand on the back of Lambert’s head. I’m half folded around him, grunting and moaning as Lambert suckles me and explores my foreskin with his talented tongue. He cups my balls in his soft hands and pulls me forward, to the base. Stars swirl in front of my eyes as he blesses my cock with attention.
“Dios mio,” I gasp. “You have such a hot, velvety mouth, Lambert.”
He hums and makes my knees turn to gelatin.

Once, during one of our sex romps, Lambert said to me that oral is a lot like ballet, just ballet you do with your tongue. That night I learned just how fast my reload speed was.

I beg him to go slowly, but he’s eating me up. I watch him bob his head, devouring me, enjoying the sour tasting of me. Now that I’ve given him an outlet, all his sexual energy is pouring out. I stroke his silky blond hair and listen to him work. Lambert pushes the tip of his tongue into my piss hole and pre-cum dribbles out against his tongue. “Fuck Lambert!”
I can feel him smiling around my cock and for some stupid reason that sends me over the edge. I push my member down his throat and empty my seed in hot spurts. Lambert startles, and some of it dribbles down his lips, but he quickly recovers and pumps me with his hand as he tends my glans with his mouth. My vision goes entirely black, and I am cursing up a storm. Every nerve of mine is firing at once and I am surprised I haven’t fallen off the couch yet.
“Oh Lambert,” I groan. “You are a delight.”
He plays his tongue over my balls. “You know what I like about you American men?”
“Hm?” I ask, hazy.
“You never ask for permission to do anything. You thrust, you cum, you never ask or tell us, you just do it. It’s very sexy, the way you dominate like that.”
I puff out my chest, enjoying the testosterone coursing through me. “Is that why you love to bottom for me?”
“Yes,” Lambert says, licking his lips. “You nail me just how I like it.”
“Speaking of how you like it, you want your orgasm now?” I ask. My cock is softening, so I put it back into my pants. It’s still shiny from Lambert’s work, and I relish the idea of going through rehearsal with his marks on me.
“Oui oui!” Lambert points down. “Look how hard I am!”
“Good, cause I got just the thing for that…”

I wobble over to my duffel bag and extract a clean washcloth I use for sweat. I encourage Lambert to stand up. We kiss for a moment, and I pull his leggings down in the front until his cock springs free. I wrap the washcloth around it and pump him. Lambert melts against me as I milk his cock. Soft, he’s about 3 inches but when hard it’s more than twice that. A few pulls is all it takes before Lambert shudders and the towel grows wet under my fingers. He clings to my torso and pants against my neck.
“You all done, pretty one?” I purr.
“I feel like I’m floating,” he answers.

I stroke his hair and clean up the sticky mess between his legs. I also adjust his leggings and make sure he’s straight.
“Feel good?”
“Oh yes. I feel …cleansed. Empty. Clear-headed.”
“Good, cause practice starts in twenty minutes.”
Lambert puffed out his cheeks. “Fyew! That was fun! God, I love you American boys. Getting me into trouble.”
I fake throwing the soiled towel at him. “You like getting into trouble! You’re a mischievous little French minx in tights, a real danger to society.”

Lambert makes an uncharacteristically loud laugh. His hands immediately fly to cover his mouth as he turns red. Just at that moment, another dancer comes in.

“…What did I miss?”
“Oh nothing, Janine,” I smile sweetly. “Lambert and I were just fooling around.”
She rolls her eyes. “Man it is stuffy in here and it smells like sweat. How about we open a window?”
I cough. Lambert and I share a look. I stuff the washcloth into my bag. “That is a good idea.”

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Text is fictional. Source isn’t an actual ballet dancer, but some guy on Flickr that likes to pose in leggings. Huh!