Kyle stood frozen, his mind still trying to catch up with what his eyes had just seen.

The music continued to play, but Kyle wasn’t really hearing it anymore. His gaze stayed locked on the stage, unable to look away. Everyone around him was moving, shifting, reacting — but he wasn’t. Everyone wanted a piece of Phoenix.

As the show went on, Phoenix began to improvise, eventually deciding to choose someone from the crowd to join him on stage. His eyes scanned the room slowly, deliberately, until they settled on Kyle’s. And somehow, in that moment, they both seemed to know what would happen next.

Kyle felt a hand touch him, fingers closing around his wrist as someone tried to pull him forward, but his body refused to respond. He wanted to leave. He wanted to run. And yet, at the same time, he wanted to stay.

Suddenly, the show stopped feeling public. At least, in Kyle’s mind, it did.

It feels like it’s just the two of us, he thought, his breath shallow. Like he’s forgotten about his job and focused on me instead. 

But why?

Phoenix kept dancing, but this time he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of Kyle’s ear as he spoke, his body never stopping its slow, controlled movements.

“I know you don’t know me,” he murmured, his breath warm against Kyle’s skin, “and you’re probably not feeling very comfortable with this. But could you help me?” His hand tightened briefly around Kyle’s wrist. “I need someone on stage with me, and I really don’t feel like being devoured.”

His voice dropped even lower.
“I swear — if you touch my hand, I’ll stop whatever I’m doing.”

Kyle didn’t answer. His throat felt dry, his thoughts scattered. Instead, he moved the hand Phoenix was holding, slowly sliding his fingers between Phoenix’s until their hands intertwined fully, palm to palm.

Phoenix stilled for half a second — just enough to understand — before his lips curved into a knowing smile. He took that as a yes and began guiding Kyle toward the stage.

The show intensified with every beat of the music. Phoenix’s movements grew more deliberate, more provocative. With each step, each turn of his hips, there was less clothing, more skin, more heat. He danced closer now, aware of Kyle’s gaze, feeding on it.

He said to touch his hand if it became too much, right? His pulse racing. Let’s keep going. Let’s see how far this goes.

Kyle was seated exactly where Phoenix had begun the performance. One moment he was alone — the next, Phoenix was straddling his lap, the sudden weight making Kyle suck in a sharp breath.

Slow, sensual movements followed. Phoenix rolled his hips deliberately, just enough to make the contact unmistakable. The temperature rose fast — and not just in the room.

Only then did Kyle realize something that made his chest tighten.

Phoenix was still wearing the mask. He hadn’t removed it — not once.

How am I this aroused? Panic and desire tangling in his chest. This doesn’t usually happen so easily.

Heat rushed to his face, his cheeks burning. Phoenix noticed immediately. His hands came up to cradle Kyle’s face, thumbs brushing his jaw as he leaned in, close enough that Kyle could feel his breath, close enough that the crowd might think a kiss was coming.

Damn it. Was it the hand? Kyle’s thoughts spiraled. Is my useless brain even functioning right now?

“Breathe,” Phoenix whispered, his eyes dropping briefly before lifting again, dark and focused. “I’m not going to do anything.” His voice softened. “When this is over, don’t leave. I’ll take you backstage so no one notices your… problem.”