The Carpenter's Prince

Rich, warm sounds rose as he approached. The butterflies in his stomach rose too, while his frustration with this impromptu rehearsal and irritation at the interruption slowly faded, though Keni couldn’t figure out why. Surely nobody listening to Wynton Marsalis was a threat, right?

Keni paused at the end of the hall and took a breath before pushing open the door. A man was hunched over, his back to the door, buzz saw working furiously. Keni winced as a piece of wood fell and hit the floor, but the man nimbly stepped around it to continue his cutting. It was a large piece, of what he couldn’t tell, but as he stood there, watching, it began to take shape. It looked like a little group of mice, and Keni frowned. What the hell was this guy doing? He started to call out to him but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted to do was startle a man with machinery in his hand.

The buzzing stopped, and the man set the machine down and stood back, staring at his work. Keni rapped lightly on the door, but there was no response. Louder. Still nothing. The man was now busy sanding the corners of whatever he was making. Keni walked over, trying to get into the man’s peripheral vision so he wouldn’t startle the guy, and reached out a hand to tap him on the shoulder.

The stranger chose that moment to stand straight and take a step back, brushing into Keni’s front and jumping remarkably high for man with presumably no training in doing so.

“Good Lord, you startled me.” The man sucked in a harsh breath, a hand over his chest, safety goggles and ear protectors still over his head. Well, that explained why the guy hadn’t heard him earlier. He took the goggles off, lowered the headset around his neck, and stared at Keni.

And Keni stared back. He was a big boy, like thicc thick. Black, six-one, maybe six-two, broad shoulders, solid thighs, and just enough softness around the middle that Keni wanted to snuggle. A veritable teddy bear. The shaved head and full beard did nothing to dissuade him. He itched to touch, to climb him and wrap his legs around him and nuzzle into his neck.

Except the man was frowning at him. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse. Keni wondered if it was always like that, or if it was the sawdust. Probably the latter, but it still sounded sexy as hell.

Keni raised a brow. “I’m the principal danseur.” God, he sounded like a pretentious douche. He tried again. “I mean, the lead male ballerina. My partner and I are rehearsing for the Nutcracker. Who exactly are you?”

The man’s eyes widened; then he dipped his head and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be harsh, but Naveed told me no one would be here. He asked me to design some set pieces for the kids’ ballet.”

Keni frowned, wracking his brain before it clicked. The company did what they called a petite ballet performance, a shortened version of the Nutcracker for families with small children who wouldn’t sit through the full thing. Keni was dancing in that one too. The original designer’d had some sort of hissy fit with Naveed, destroyed his half-ass work, picked up his toys, and gone home. Naveed had been scrambling to find a replacement, difficult because the show started in less than two weeks.

“Of course, that makes sense. I… we were practicing and heard the jazz and the buzz saw and got a little concerned,” he finished breathlessly.

“Scared you wandered into a horror flick?”

Keni laughed at the humor in the other man’s voice. “Not quite but, well, maybe.” He smiled, and the man took a step forward.

“Sean Edwards.” He held out his hand.

“Keni-with-an-i Jackson,” Keni said as he returned the handshake.