It's Friday and Leonardo is at the club again.
The week of barely sleeping and strange dreams has left him exhausted but he knows that if he goes to bed now he’ll be haunted by the strangers again. So he dances alone.
He takes comfort in the sweating bodies that surround him. A push from a stranger every now and then only spurs him on.
He can feel this week’s frustrations pouring out of him with every jump and with every bead of sweat that spills from his pores.
He is startled by the hands resting on his hips, keeping him in place and before he can turn around a warm breath is by his ear: “Please, don’t turn around, Artista.”
There is something familiar about that voice but Leo just can’t place it.
“Just for a moment,” the voice continues. Leo can feel the man behind him lower his head. His breath now dancing over Leo’s shoulders, the man’s lips graze the exposed skin there.
Leo is scared but deep inside he also feels that, somehow, this is ok.
The man’s hands start moving, thumbs rubbing gentle circles, gentle pressure guides them to start swaying to some unheard music.
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