Date: Sun, 12 Mar 2000 12:56:16 +0800
From: Lady Poetess <egiggles@moose-mail.com>
Subject: The Gentlemen's Club: Brendan

THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Brendan

Written by and copyright Lady Poetess

Disclaimer:
This story has nothing to do with the real Brendan Fraser or Alan Gelfant
or you.


ONE

Alan Gelfant had braved stormy seas and he had almost been killed when a
rogue Iraqi pilot almost gunned him down in the Gulf War. Once in Sicily he
spent six hours standing naked on a window ledge after he realized the
young man he had screwed had been a homophobic Mafia boss' favorite
son. Nothing in his adventurous life had prepared him, however, for his
homecoming.

   "I've lost the business," Bartleby, his brother, told him gloomily.

   Tell me about it, Alan thought, rubbing his large hand across his face
that was his habit when he was thinking (the latter not exactly his
favorite pastime). His mother had been weeping, his sister-in-law had added
her own impressive howling, and Bartleby, whom Alan loved dearly
considering that Bart was straight, looked as if he would love to shrivel
up and die.

   "How did you lose your business?" Alan asked reluctantly. He came home
whenever his homesickness became too strong to contain, and even that, he
made his homecomings as short as possible. Matters like this only made him
cut his stay at home even shorter. He couldn't help being curious,
however. Bart wasn't a savvy businessman, but he was adequate to keep the
family supply store in good shape. Bart was simply too unimaginative to
lose it.

   Bart mumbled.

   "Speak up Bart, I can't hear you."

   "Brendan Fraser forced me out of business."

   Alan tried to recall where he had heard that name before. It took him
awhile.  "Jesus, Bart, how on earth did you screw one of the most powerful
men in America? "

   "I got a contract to supply cement to that new construction project, and
I just thought that, well..."

   "Let me guess. You cut around the corners."

   "The whole building just collapses and three men were killed," Bart
said, looking into his glass. "Bad enough I'm feeling all guilty and
praying at church all week, but the bastard made sure I never get any
business again from anyone.  Cut all my clients away and now I'm finished."

   "Shit." Usually Alan would have applauded this Brendan Fraser. But this
was different. Bart was be scum, but Alan couldn't let his nieces and
nephews starve.  "So what do you want me to do?"

   "I don't know." Bart sighed deeply. "I'm finished. You got any money I
can borrow?"



Brendan Fraser smiled at the matrons and he whispered to his mother,
"Thanks Mom. I wouldn't dare imagine what I would do to those old biddies
if I stay a second longer in their company."

   Melissa Fraser, cool professional socialite and social activist, smiled
at someone she passed even as she guided her son across the room. "Don't
complain, dear. I have some nice people I want you to meet."

   "No," Brendan said in mock sternness. "Mom, no more girls. I'm gay,
remember?"

   "You don't like the boys I introduce you to either. And you know how Dad
and I want you to settle down and be happy. You're working yourself to a
heart attack."

   Brendan heard the same old speech many times before. While he loved his
parents dearly, especially for their easy acceptance of their eldest son's
homosexuality (although his father did take some time to warm up to), but
his announcement of his sexuality ten years ago only transferred their
matchmaking efforts to him and the open gay men in their social
circles. Even after his brothers and sisters had settled down and popped up
eight grandkids for them to play with, they still wanted to see Brendan
shackled.

   Brendan didn't want to get shackled. So what if lately work seemed more
interesting than sex? It was not as if he wasn't getting any. He just
didn't try to hard to get any.

   "I was telling your father that you haven't taken a vacation since you
became junior CEO eight years ago. And you know what happened to your
father, dear," Melissa said, driving home the fact that Johnny Fraser had a
mild stroke two years back. "You ought to relax and unwind."

   "I like my work."

   "Nana told me you wake up at four and leave the house and comes back
every day at three. And your nice assistant Brian confirms that you spend
it all in the office. Really Brendan! You'd think we're in money!"

   "Careful Mom. Don't let your friends hear you," Brendan teased. Melissa
and her husband took up activism as a hobby that somehow turned into
zeal. Every minority rights had been taken up by them, which probably
explained their acceptance of Brendan's sexual preferences. "Greenpeace may
just... whoa."

   He lost his breath when he saw the man arguing with the majordomo at the
doorway. His first thought was that shit, the man had hair. The man sported
a late evening shadow on his strong angular chin, and Brendan always had a
weakness for hairy men. Hell, Brendan's cock was throbbing painfully in his
pants as he took in the man's impressively wide biceps that stretched the
seams of his cheap-looking tux sleeves. Power -- the man radiated sheer
strength and power. Brendan felt his own buttocks tighten at the sight of
the man's powerfully muscled thighs encased in dark fabric.

   The man reminded Brendan of a Roman centurion, sheer power and virility.
Muscular but slim, the man made Brendan think of raw scorching sex,
primitive and savage.

   Brendan felt his long dormant predatory instincts soar to life.

   He would have that man.

   "Excuse me Mom," he said, disentangling himself even then. He ignored
people in his path, even pushing a large man out of his way (he realized
later that was his father), his senses all focused on the man.

   "Hey Parkins, what's going here," he asked the major domo even as he
struggled to stay coherent. Up close, the man was even more magnetically
beautiful, with his long eyelashes and deep clear brown eyes, shapely lips,
and a broken nose that only added a dash of danger to his raw
attractiveness. And yes, Brendan's hands itched to touch the long,
moderately thick fur that lined the man's arms and unbutton the man's shirt
to see more of the tufts of dark hair peeking out from the man's shirt
collar.

   This was a real man, Brendan thought, a man whose muscular physique came
from hard labor and not from gym sessions. His knees shook somewhat even as
he almost came, there and then, when the man turned his angry, heated gaze
to him.

   "Mr Fraser, this man is trying to get in without an invitation," Parkins
said the same time as the man exclaimed, "Brendan Fraser?"
   "Yeah, that's me," Brendan told the man with his best goofy grin in
place. (He didn't even hear Parkins.)

   Alan's fist hit him right in his jaw.


TWO

Brendan pressed the ice pack gingerly on his swollen jaw.

   "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," Alan said, although he didn't
look too sorry.

   "It certainly didn't help you in making me change my mind." Brendan
placed his feet on the desk, right towards Alan at the other side of the
table. "Your brother's attempt at cheating me cost me the lives of three
men, and my reputation. The press made a big fuss about it and two of my
contracts are now under scrutiny by various unions. It's only fair I make
your brother bear some of my troubles."

   Alan sat back and looked at the man before him. He couldn't reconcile
the things he had read about "The Shark", a man who had no qualms in
crushing his competitors, to this man whose face was like a plastic
dough. Brendan looked handsome, oh yes, and age had only given the face
character that only increased its devastating beauty. The nose was too big,
the lips too wide, but put together, Brendan Fraser could grace the pages
of GQ. And ironically, the face was also animatedly expressive. When
Brendan winced as he pressed the ice to his jaw, when he smiled in a wide,
goofy, and disarming manner, he always threw Alan off-guard.

   Here was a man who could as easily be the most affable man as he could
the coldest, most cruel man alive. Alan had an inkling how Brendan Fraser
swallowed his victims -- no doubt he lulled them into a false sense of
security.  The man radiated accessibility at the same time he oozed power
and charisma.

   Puzzling. And Alan was dangerously attracted to this man who fascinated
him so.

   "My brother is very sorry. He prays in church daily, he couldn't sleep,
and he is all torn up. Plus he has his children and wife to feed." Alan
leaned forward.  "Bart's the only breadwinner of the family. He needs his
store."

   "How about you?" Brendan asked, coldly studying him.

   Alan felt the hair at the back of his neck stand even as his cock jumped
at the intense gaze. Shit. "I chip in when I can. I've just started my
business, and it will take some time before I can fully help."

   "What sort if business?"

   "Building houses."

   Brendan smiled then, another wide and open grin that couldn't help
warming Alan. "You know, what would you do to save your brother's
business?"

   Shit, he should've known. Alan clamped hard on his traitorous
libido. "Don't push me too far."

   "No, you misunderstand. I'm not asking you to do anything you wouldn't
want to. It's just a thought, really. How much are you willing to consort
the enemy to save your brother? If I ask you to work for me as a way of
repaying your brother's debt to me, would you do it?"

   "Work? As what?" Alan asked warily.

   "What can you do?"



"You've lost it," Brian Littrell, Brendan's right hand man and - some
whispered -- industrial espionage expert -- said. "We don't need a
janitor. We have enough cleaning staff."

   "But none as tasty as that," Brendan said, sipping his coffee. "God,
look at those buttocks. What I wouldn't do to sink my tongue between them."

   "He's a bit too hairy for my tastes," Brian said, looking the man over
as the latter mopped the floor. He turned to his employer and grinned. "You
have never mixed business with pleasure before, Bran. This is really unlike
you. Wait until the guys hear about this."

   "There's nothing to tell," Brendan said absently, his eyes never moving
away from Alan.


THREE

Brendan looked up and couldn't help smiling. "Hi there."

   "It's late," Alan said, hesitating slightly at the doorway of his
office. "You know, you really shouldn't work this late."

   "A week here and you're already mothering me." Brendan sat back and
placed his hands behind his neck. "What? You don't think I'm the enemy
anymore?"

   "Like I said, don't push me too far."

   "You're going home?"

   "Yeah."

   "Don't go." Brendan pushed absently at his pen. He looked at his papers.
"Want to make us some hot coffee and get to know each other better?"

   Alan hesitated again, rubbed his face in that manner Brendan found
delightfully charming, and then nodded.

   And Brendan couldn't help feeling as if he had just been given a great
gift.



"Your place looks like an office," Alan said two weeks later.

   "Hmmph," Brendan grunted, throwing the keys to his Jaguar carelessly to
the living room desk. "Like I said, someone has to keep the company
running."

   "Your mother's right. You're working too hard."

   Brendan again was struck by how much Alan had made inroads into his
life.  That man was incorrigible. He struck up friendship with Brian and
the rest of his staff until soon they treated him not as a janitor but one
of their gang. And one day Melissa bumped into him and somehow she had the
impression that Brendan was sweet on him. Needless to say that woman was
encouraging Alan by dropping hints about Brendan's life. And Alan knew it
too, from the smug smiles he kept throwing Brendan's way.

   Damn his mother. He was not sweet on Alan. Alan was just an itch, that's
all.

   "Easy for her to say. Since Dad semi-retired someone has to keep her in
luxury." Brendan opened his wine cabinet. "Want a drink?"

   "No." Alan looked around the place. "Grand place. This is a fucking
palace."

   Brendan took a deep breath and drank his whisky in one gulp. "Alan?"

   "Yeah?"

   "Can I ask you something, off-the-record? Not as an employer, but as a
casual acquaintance?"

   "If you're asking if we can be friends, sure, we can be friends," Alan
said.

   "Will you fuck me?"

  There. Brendan had said it. Usually he would be more charming and
romantic, but somehow around Alan, his brain would freeze. Well, at least
Alan wouldn't misunderstand his question.

   Silence. Brendan looked at Alan uncertainly.

   Alan was smiling, but it was an almost cruel smile. A fission of
excitement ran down Brendan's spine.

   "What have you got to offer?" Alan said calmly, sitting casually on the
couch like a king.

   Brendan walked to stand before him. He calmly unbuttoned his shirt,
slowly, one by one, until he pulled his shirt down his arms and stood
before Alan bare- chested.

   "What do you think?" he said, running his palm across his well-muscled
chest and down to his torso.

   Alan grinned roguishly. He lazily spread his well-muscled thighs, and
there was no mistaking the huge bulge in his groin. "Take off your trousers
and we'll see."

   Brendan swallowed and unbuttoned his slacks. He hooked his thumbs into
the waistband of his shorts and pulled them and his trousers down, his own
hard cock slapping against his flat stomach as he bent down to kick his
trousers and underwear off. Hell, he knew those gym sessions would pay off
one day.

   He stood before Alan, his cock throbbing like steel against his belly
even as he turned around. "Like what you see?"

   "Oh yeah." Alan sat up and pulled his shirt off in one smooth motion.

   Brendan licked his lips, for he couldn't help it. Alan's chest was
thickly matted with dark fur, his pectorals crowned with two large dark
brown nipples that puckered like delicious cherries. The thick thatch
tapered into a narrow line along the well-muscled stomach.

   He reached down and let Alan pull him onto the latter's thighs.

   Alan pulled gently at Brendan's nipples. "So you want a fuck?" he
murmured, his right hand pulling and exploring Brendan's chest even as his
left hand reached down to feel Brendan's cock. When the hand tugged
playfully at the heavy balls, Brendan groaned softly.

   "Oh yes." Brendan buried his face in Alan's chest and smelled. God, Alan
smelled of sweat and pure male sex. He instinctively rubbed his aching
asshole at the bulge of Alan's erection. "I don't usually do this, by the
way."

   "What? This?" Alan slowly pushed his finger up Brendan's anus, which
clenched hard around it.

   Brendan looked down at the sight of Alan's finger slowly penetrating
him. "Oh yeah. Oh fucking yes."

   Alan looked up from the sight of his finger in Brendan to Brendan's
face.  "Good."


"Put me down!" Brendan said, laughing.

   "Stop moving or I'll drop you," Alan warned, his tone just as
light. "It's not easy carrying a giant like you."

   Brendan laughed again, a somewhat raspy tenor that made Alan feel
lighter inside. The tip of his cock brushed against Brendan's tightly
muscled buttocks with each movement only made him hornier than hell. He
placed the man on the dining table.

   "What are you doing?" Brendan asked.

   Alan smiled and starting binding Brendan's right wrist to the foot of
the table.

   "Hey! What the fuck!" Brendan protested. "Those are five thousand dollar
ties!"

   Alan stood back and surveyed the sight. Perfect. Brendan was tied
spread- eagled on the dining table tightly. "Perfect," he said, letting his
right hand close around his cock and rubbing it slowly. "Now where's the
peanut butter?"

   "Shit! Oh no, no way," Brendan sputtered, but Alan noticed that the
man's cock only flexed and leaked clear droplets of fluids at the slit ever
more.

   Alan calmly scooped a generous layer of peanut butter and slathered it
with his finger into Brendan's anus. He rubbed the creamy substance gently
but thoroughly, until Brendan felt as if he was filled to the core. Brendan
was squirming slightly, but he had his eyes shut in ecstasy with his probe
of Alan's fingers. Then he opened his eyes at the sound of a plastic packet
tearing, and Brendan could only look in amazement when Alan pulled out a
few slices of bread and layered this time grape jelly on them. Then,
slowly, Alan rolled the bread slices and pushed them up Brendan's asshole.

   "Oh shit," Brendan cry, arcing his buttocks as high as his bonds would
allow him. "Alan, oh Alan!"

   "Ssh. Let me eat dinner," Alan said, and lowered his head between
Brendan's thighs to eat.

   Brendan saw stars in his eyes even as he let out a howl of pleasure at
the feel of Alan's mouth on his pucker, slowly sucking out a slice of
bread. Then there were teeth playfully biting at him even as they bite into
the bread. Creamy buttery ooze slowly spilled out of his anus as Alan bit
into the thick creamy fill of the bread slice. Then his tongue flicked it,
coring Brendan wider as it reached for another bread slice, slowly pulling
it out of Brendan's heated anus. "Alan!"  Brendan screamed, widening his
thighs to let Alan have more of him even as his mind protested at the
excruciating pleasure Alan was inflicting on him with his tongue and teeth.

   Oh God, then Alan's tongue began cleaning him up, lapping at the peanut
butter than lined his anal passage, that warm, wet, rough tongue searing
his anal walls with burning friction. Occasionally Alan would pause to
withdraw his tongue to lap at the peanut and jelly butter creaming
Brendan's thighs and the areas surrounding his pucker, before slowly and
slowly sending it up his welcoming asshole again.

   The lapping and wet sucking sounds were driving the both of them out of
their minds. Brendan's stomach clenched even as his precum juices began to
pool at his navel. He saw Alan stand up, saw the urgency in his eyes down
to the red, raging erection circled by thick, dark fur at the groin, and he
managed a weak smile. "How about dessert?"

   Alan was about to grasp Brendan's hips for a violent thrust. "Later," he
snarled, then plunged deep up Brendan's body in one smooth lunge. Brendan
felt his flesh tear apart, and he gave a loud shuddering cry as his own
climax burst through his cock in violent hard spurts, raining onto Alan's
face as well as Brendan's chest and stomach. Alan licked at the semen that
splattered at his face even as he began pumping hard. He pushed himself
onto his knees on the table and lifted Brendan's legs to his shoulder
without missing a beat, then he was in, so deep, so fucking deep that he
could feel Brendan's heartbeat in his soul.

   And Brendan was watching him. With every thrust, his hairy stomach
muscles clenched along with his buttocks, and he knew Brendan was watching
him and hell, that aroused him. Then he felt slow pressing of a blunt
object at his own anus, and the slow giving of his tight pucker. He
couldn't help it, he turned to look, and the sight of Brendan pushing a
thick candle up his ass, with about five inches of it slowly packed deep in
him, drove him over. His balls rose, and he grunted when the first of his
spunk burst from his cock, slathering Brendan's insides in hot, creamy
celebration. The candle penetrated deeper, and Alan shuddered, spilling his
very soul in Brendan.

   And the burning hot semen searing the torn insides of Brendan, sending
red hot burning fires of ecstasy up Brendan's spine, only sent the man into
yet another climax. "Fuck," Brendan muttered when Alan finally collapsed
into his arms. "Good thing the table was sturdy enough to support us."

   "Hmmm," Alan sighed, still breathing heavily. He looked down at the mess
at where they were still joined. "Oh yeah."

   "You know, I know there are some fruits in the refrigerator. Care for
dessert?"  Brendan murmured.

   Alan's cock flexed inside Brendan.


FOUR

"I don't know what you did, Al, but Brendan has stopped whatever he's
doing," Bart said to Alan a week later. "I'm back in business again."

   "Hmm." Alan looked at the peanut butter jar on Bart's table. "What?"

   "I said that bastard has stopped his Saddam Hussein tactics. Thanks,
whatever it is you did to him."

   He did plenty to Brendan, and Brendan likewise did plenty to him. They
had a great time putting the household appliances to great use. Brendan had
come up with some great new uses for the waffle irons that made Alan's
insides clenched in excitement even in the memory of it. His anus was still
sore from Brendan's brutal ravaging last night.

   They hadn't stopped, they couldn't stop from fucking each other whenever
they could. It was thrilling at first, for here he was, Alan Gelfant,
former white trash and macho stud having a rich millionaire begging for a
part of him. But along the way, hell, he made the mistake of talking to
Brendan, and as a result, he had grown to like that man. To a point that he
wanted to be important in Brendan's life, which was impossible.

   The month was up. Alan felt a chill in his bones. He was to be employed
for a month, and now his time was up. Panic seized him, an unfamiliar
feeling indeed, for he never panicked. Life was always smooth and
uncomplicated for him.

   At that moment his mother walked in with a bunch of mail. "Hey Al,
there's one for you."

   Sure enough, it was a check for a month's pay.

   And just like that, the happiest month in his life ended.


"If you think I will take this insult lying down, you're fucking wrong!"
Alan yelled.

   Brendan tried not to let his light-hearted merriness show. It was
fucking hilarious -- Alan had stormed into his office building an hour
ago and single- handedly pushed away the security the alarmed secretary
summoned. Alan was indeed a warrior, a strong, handsome warrior with whom
one could learn to care for.

   Care for? Brendan frowned to himself. What a stupid thing to think
about.

   "You could at least fire me face to face," Alan said.

   "You're right," Brendan said. "You're saying you want to keep on working
here, as a janitor?"

   "No."

   Brendan felt the staggering blow in his chest. At that moment, he
realized one thing: he hated this feel of pain and hurt and this feeling of
rejection. At that moment too, he realized what he actually wanted from
Alan.

   "I'm a workaholic bastard who isn't too good at expressing emotions," he
said.  It was a warning, and somehow, they both knew it.

   Alan thought about that. True, Brendan wasn't good at expressing
emotions, or so he and everyone believed. But during their month together,
Alan knew The Shark was a fraud. A fraud who actually cared for his family
and employees.  They could work on that. "Do you even like me?" he asked
Brendan.

   Brendan chewed on his lower lip. "Signing that check was the worst thing
I ever have to do in my life," he said quietly.

   It was enough. Alan smiled roguishly and sat back on his seat. "Show me
what you got."