Date: Thu, 3 Feb 94 18:17:10 +0800
From: Lady Poetess <egiggles@moose-mail.com>
Subject: The Gentlemen's Club: Brian

THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Brian

By Lady Poetess. Copyright c 1999.

Feel free to reproduce and distribute as long as you leave the credits and
the author's note below intact. If you somehow make money out of this,
well, good for you but please send some to me at egiggles@moose-mail.com!

Author's note:

This is actually a part of an ongoing fantasy fan-fiction about a fictional
group of friends in New York whose weekly poker games form the basis of
their story of finding love and laughter. These friends are - under
inexplicable circumstances! - dead ringers from some music and movie
celebrities, obscure or well known, that I find worth a write or two. The
men and their lives depicted here have nothing in common with the real
people they are based on apart from their appearances and names. I am not
speculating on their sexual orientation or personal past. Again, everything
is strictly fictional, apart from the character's good looks. Suing me is a
waste of time, as frankly, to be blunt, I'm penniless.

PROLOGUE

"Lovely night, Nightshade." The man known as Nemesis casually pressed his
automatic at the dead center of the thief known as Nightshade's back of the
neck. "Now be a good boy and drop that disc back into the drawer."

   They both knew Nightshade was two years older than Nemesis.

   "I really need this disk, Nemesis." Nightshade's tensed posture betrayed
a twitch of nervousness, however - a slight tremor at the shoulders that
didn't escape Nemesis' sharp eyes. "It's mine by right."

   "What your quarrel with Jonathon Blacken is, frankly, I don't care. What
I care is that when you place the disk back, I will let you go and we can
both go back to our beds early and easy. Now be a good boy and cooperate
before I lose my temper."

   "So, Blacken actually called the Nemesis to stop me, a mere thief. I'm
flattered." Nightshade turned, his hooded face shielding everything from
Nemesis' view but a strong square jaw and two glittering eyes. "Very
well. I'm calling it a day."

   He made to pull open the drawer. In lightning-quick reflex he turned and
rammed the heavy metallic drawer into Nemesis' stomach. The gun went off
and fell across the room. Nemesis didn't even make a sound - his hand
reached into his shirt before the thief realized it.

   The tip of the blade in Nemesis' hand touched the thief's Adam apple in
deadly accuracy the moment Nemesis' own gun, in the thief's hand, pressed
at his temple.
   "You don't want it to end like this," Nightshade murmured. He winced
when the blade pressed a shallow indentation at his neck.

   "Actually, I don't care how this thing ends," Nemesis said flatly. "I
know you won't shoot me, and fuck it, I definitely will cut your
throat. Put the gun and the disk now. NOW!"

   The hand holding the gun trembled for a blink of an eye.

   "You're out of your league, Nightshade. You can't walk out alive with
that disk in your hand." Brian sneered. "You're a dead man one way or the
other."

   "It's my disk. Blacken stole it from me. Look, I made this program, it's
mine. I just want - "

   "I don't care."

   There wasn't any sympathy from the most ruthless agent of the nameless
shadowy agency that did everything covert and ugly. Nightshade didn't know
why Nemesis was called into his trail, for Nightshade was nothing more than
a thief who stole back his security programs from the men who destroyed his
mentor's company and absconded with the software. There was nothing to
warrant the attention of a man like Nemesis, whom word among the
underground had it had organized rescues of political prisoners in Third
World countries and killed people Uncle Sam deemed irritants. No one,
however, wanted to cross Nemesis.

   But Nightshade had one trump card to play.

   "Maybe we can make a bargain?" he offered, the fear in his voice quite
real.

   "There's nothing you have that I want except the disk on your hand."

   Nightshade dropped the disk, close within his reach. Both of them knew
it.  Nemesis obviously didn't anticipate it when the thief casually held
the hand holding the blade and lowered the hand to his chest. Only a brief
widening of those cold brown eyes revealed the agent's momentary
weakness. More telling was the ease at which the thief managed to coax the
hand to drop the knife.  Nightshade took a steadying breath and led the
agent's fingers to the zipper of his cat suit.

   "Is this what you are offering?" Nemesis' voice was somewhat raspy, as
if he had just awakened from a trance.

   His hand, however, wasted no time in pulling the zipper down, revealing
Nightshade's tightly muscled chest. And Nemesis' hand separated the fold to
reach in and gently knead the left pectoral of the thief.
   "I'm offering it, yes." Nightshade bit back a sigh of pleasure when the
agent's fingers squeezed hard.

   "One fuck and I'll let you go, is it?" Nemesis' voice was that of
amusement, however. But his hand, that hand told a different story entirely
when it glided down the thief's stomach, pausing to knead the well-defined
stomach muscles and play with the thin line of fur in the trail from navel
down to his groin. "With the mask on, I guess?"

   "Yes." Too late, the thief realized the thickening of his accent that
might give him away, and the slow drowning of his logic in the haze of lust
the agent's rough exploration of his torso was kindling. He pressed his
raging cock to the other man's, lifting his right hip over Nemesis' to give
himself purchase as he climbed onto Nemesis.

   The aching need between his thighs burned when Nemesis' erection nestled
in its groove. He heard the agent curse, then he felt the man's savage
mouth on his, plundering his mouth, forcing his lips to yield to the man's
insistent tongue.  Already Nemesis' buttocks had tensed under Nightshade's
palms and the agent's hips had already started a short hard thrusting
rhythm at the juncture of their bodies. The man's cock was seeping so much
fuck juices in anticipation of their coupling that Nightshade felt the
wetness of that cock bulge soaking the fabric of his own trousers, right
there where Nemesis was grounding his cock at his anal opening.

   A wild part of him reveled in the sexuality of this man, while logic
told him that Nemesis wouldn't let him walk out alive, even after his
submission.

   He owed it to his mentor to escape this man.

   The thought gave him strength. His one foot on the ground gave him
support as he shoved at the man with all his might.

   "What the-" Nemesis lost his balance, and staggered.

   Nightshade pushed - it wasn't easy, for the other man was heavy despite
his slim frame - and they fell forward toward the wall.

   Something snapped, and Nemesis gave a choked gurgle.

   The thief stood back and murmured, "Oh no."

   Nemesis had fallen onto the model of a skyscraper Blacken had kept in
his office. And the model had given way upon impact. A long, bloodied metal
rod protruded from Nemesis' left shoulder. It wasn't a clean thrust. Blood
and torn ligaments seeped a hideous stain on Nemesis' white shirt.

   The thief gagged. Nemesis only eyed him silently, and the thief felt
rooted at the spot.

   "Get the disk," Nemesis at length said, his voice noticeably faltering
with each increasingly staggered intake of breath. "Get out of here."

   The thief could only obey. As he ran down the cold empty streets, he
heard Nemesis' parting promise still ringing in his ears: "I'll find you,
even if I have to spend my life on it. And when I do, God help you."

   Only when he was in his car did he made an anonymized call to the
hospital.


ONE

The man known as Cousin watched as the young man charmed the patrons of
Club Abracadabra. Brian Thomas Littrell, in simple office-hour white shirt,
tie loosened around his neck, and black crumpled slacks, looked exactly
like a harmless office executive. And with a guitar, he sang songs and
easily swayed his listeners into the magic.

   And Brian had great rapport with these people. The crowd was especially
thick today, for Brian had just returned from a month's recuperation from a
heart attack. "Hey, play us some good old-fashioned love songs, Litty!"
someone called, and Brian smiled boyishly, brighter than the neon lights of
the club really, and broke into a gentle rendition of Prince's Raspberry
Beret - an acoustic version the Purpled One would surely approve. The crowd
sure did.

   It probably was true the rumor that recording companies had practically
begged Brian to sign up with them. Not that Brian would. He, like Cousin,
valued their anonymity too much. Killers and assassins like they had simple
wishes in life.

   "Okay, before I go on, I really ought to thank you nice people for the
cards and flowers," Brian said, to which he was booed. Someone threatened
to kill Brian should he ever dared work too hard and get another coronary.

   They loved him, Cousin realized, not without some envy and
surprise. They really wanted him to sing here every Friday and make their
problems fade in that temporary moment of music. If only they knew how good
Brian could be in making problems fade.

   "Cousin," Brian said half an hour later, falling into the seat opposite
him.

   "Nemesis. You know why I'm here."

    Brian ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair absently. "So I
failed.  What's the problem? I agreed to do this Nightshade affair only
because for the papers. Success was never a stipulation."

   "Surely you're not that na‹ve," Cousin said.

   "No, I'm not. I failed. Too bad."

   Cousin sighed and pushed the parcel across the table to his former boss.
"Here, the papers promised. With this, you can officially burn your bridges
with Control."

   "Now who's being na‹ve?" Brian ripped open the parcel and did a quick
perusal of the documents within. "They didn't pass me the more
incriminating ones, just as I thought."

   It had been four years since Brian turned his back on Control, but
Control never actually let him go. Cousin suddenly felt weary for Brian,
for the both of them. "I wish I can do more," he said.

   "Thanks. But I can do more." Smiling cryptically, Brian did a mock
salute and left the table.


TWO

One year later

A knock on the door reminded Enriquez Martin Morales of the play that was
about to begin. He took a deep breath and tried to still his
nervousness. Breathe, he told himself.

   Brian Littrell frowned at the empty room. He placed one hand on the desk
and was about to leave when he saw a rather shapely jeans-clad pair of
buttocks under the desk. He coughed.

   He was rewarded at the sight of those great buns tensing - and felt the
responding rise of his own cock in his pants. Damn, but this stranger was
giving him really obscene fantasies at this very moment, and Brian hadn't
even seen his face. Then the other man eased his way out from under the
desk, with a hard crash of his head against hard wood on his way out.

  So this was the new security software expert. The thin-rimmed glasses on
the man's Roman nose at first distracting, but he soon noticed the man's
clean-cut, if somewhat bland handsome features. Bland, he thought with some
disappointment. From what he heard, this man had a car and he could use
someone to drive him to work every morning. His last boyfriend, a
muscle-bound model, had been dumped the moment the man's car went to the
garage for a month's tuning up.

   "I need to talk to you about the shutdown of the security system," Brian
said.

   "Oh, that." The man crashed onto this seat and placed his feet on the
table, his scruffy sneakers almost touching Brian's immaculate trousers at
the left leg.  "Shoot."

    Fucking hell but the man was impertinent. Brian gritted his teeth. "I
want to know how long the system will be down. I have to deploy the
manpower before word gets out that we have no security system."

   "Oh, the system's up already. Ten minutes ago."

   "Why am I not told?" Brian demanded.

   "Why should I?" Ricky opened a can of Coke and took a hearty gulp. "The
Board that runs this museum, they're my number one superior. Then Mr
Fraser, your boss, he's my next in rank superior as it is he who contacted
Courtetron Securities and asked for me. Jeremy Northam, the head of
securities, comes third. You, being merely the man Mr Fraser sent to assist
Mr Northam, comes fourth. I'm sorry but I am a busy man, as you can
see. Writing out three reports a day is my limit."

   Brian blinked. Did that man actually say that to him? Loss of
equilibrium was something new to him. And he scrambled for some leverage of
control. "What work? Your computer monitor is dark." Feeble, but that would
do for start.

   "This? It doesn't need to be switched on. The bulk of the work done is
in the supercomputer in which this monitor is just an extension."

   The rest of Ricky's jargon-laden explanation was lost to Brian, for whom
computers were used for nothing more than emailing and websurfing. He gave
an exasperated snort and make to leave.

   "Hey, you leaving so soon?"

   Ricky's words stopped him in his tracks. He turned. "Yeah?"

   Ricky grinned, flashing straight white teeth that could make a
toothpaste company orgasmic. "How fast can you run?"

   "Run?" Brian started to wonder if he had stumbled into some sort of
twilight zone.

   "Yeah run. I'm a college runner. Held the '89 record for the 100-m
dash. How about you?"

   "I don't run." That's the partial truth. His heart made it impossible
for push to push his stamina beyond his limits.

   "Pity. I prefer a man who can keep up."

   Brian sat down. He had to. "Are you coming on to me?"

   "You can say that. Actually what I have in mind is nothing risqu‚,
just some dates and you showing me around town. Anything beyond that is
strictly optional and on mutual consent." Ricky switched on the monitor and
Brian watched the monitor burst into life. "By the way, there's a hacker
trying to crack in."

   "What?" Brian shook his head in a daze. Shit, the man switched topics
fast.  "Let me guess - again, you didn't inform me."

   "Actually my report's right on waiting in your email box. I take it you
didn't check your mailbox before you came here. Don't worry though - I'm
updating the software even as we speak. The hacker can try again, but this
time he would find himself facing a brand new, never-seen-before Grade A
Ricky Martin prototype."

   "Really?" His skepticism must have shown on his face, because Ricky's
eyes narrowed slightly.

   "At last count, three hundred of the three-hundred-and-fifty largest
private galleries of precious art in the world use my custom-made programs,
and the fail proof rate is at 99.6%. The Interpol verified that, if you
want to check. And thirty- three of the fifty remaining ones have submitted
Courtetron their request for my services." Ricky's fingers flied over the
keyboard. "Believe me, Bri, when I say I am worth every cent of the $3.2
million your employers are paying Courtetron."  Now the printer came to
life. "That's why the system is down, by the way - I have to rewrite the
whole thing to make my program compatible with the hardware. It's almost
done. now done." With a flourish, Ricky pressed a key and turned back to
Brian. "Half my job's done. Now back to our date. What time shall I pick
you?"

   "Hold it." Brian raised his hand, then frowned at it. What was he going
to say again? "Why me? What the hell's going on?" A thought hit him. "Did
Jeremy set you up to this?"

   "Well, he did tell me of your penchant for muscle-bound airheads. I
guess you'll jump at the chance of going out with a dark, Latin gay guy for
once. I mean, hey, if you're still not bored with your Ken dolls, go ahead
and forget that I ever asked."
   Brian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "They are not Ken dolls."

   "Whatever."

   "Now see here!"

   "I know. I'm rude and impertinent. But I'm good at what I do, so I guess
you'll have to bear with it. Hey, I'll bear your overbearing
terrorist-tactics in return."  Ricky flashed another brilliant smile.

   Brian rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. One heart bypass and no one
respected you anymore. Fuck it. "Okay. Pick me up at seven at the museum
front porch."

   "Don't look like a martyr. I'm asking for your virtue."

   "We're not going to f-" Brian paused again. He gazed at the man before
him.  Hell, he wouldn't mind fucking this man, he realized. No, it wouldn't
be any problem at all. The latent lust surged full force again as he
watched the man's hands on the keyboard, their movements strangely sensual
as they danced on the keys. And when Ricky carelessly reached out one file
for a file behind him, the loose T-shirt stretched taut against his chest,
revealing the smooth well- defined contours of a well-muscled torso. And
the man's nipples were erect buds against the fabric, making Brian's mouth
water at the sight.

   When Ricky reached for the Coke can just beside Brian, Brian's hand
reached out and closed around the other man's large hand. The heat of the
contact almost seared his senses into incoherence.

   He was trying so hard to clear the confusing desires in his mind that he
missed the reluctant desire in Ricky's eyes or the man's soft gasp of a man
seduced despite himself. But when Ricky's hand closed around Brian's tie
and almost choked the man to death when he pulled Brian across the desk,
Brian came to life. He fell on Ricky, and with a choked laugh, they both
felt the chair topple over, sending them crashing to the floor.

   "You're right. Maybe it's time I try a Latin date," Brian said, and
rubbed his lips against the man's.

   Ricky's mouth welcomed him, and Brian kissed him, letting his tongue rub
against Ricky's in a sinuous mating rhythm. He felt Ricky's hands pulling
his shirt out of his trousers before reaching up to caress his back, and
Ricky's hand on his fevered naked skin only made him thrust his rock hard
cock between Ricky's thighs. He deepened the kiss even as his hips
twitched, pushing urgently at Ricky's anal pucker.

   He wanted to so badly to plunge deep into Ricky and seared the man's
insides with his semen, marking that man like a territorial mutt, in fact,
that when Ricky pushed him away, Brian's first instinct was to lash out at
Ricky.

   But he never hit anyone unless he was paid to do so, and since he wasn't
in the market, he never intended to even start. "Why the fuck did you push
me away for?" he snarled, driving his fist to the floor hard. It wasn't as
great a release as howling at the moon in frustration, but it was
something.

   "Too fast," Ricky said, putting his fingers to his lips - they came away
with some blood and he looked at it dumbly. "I don't think I."

   "I thought you're a college runner."

   "Rub it in, will you?"

   Brian stood up somewhat unsteadily and adjusted his clothes. As he
tightened his tie, he caught Ricky's look. "What?"

   "Nothing." Ricky looked at Brian and noted somewhat resentfully that the
man didn't seem to be shaken by their near-fuck. The man's breathing was
pretty steady unlike Ricky's, which seemed like a train derailed. That man
probably got laid on his office desk all the time.

   Brian certainly looked pleased. In fact, the man was now smiling rather
stupidly, as if he was enjoying a private joke. "What?" he asked, echoing
Brian's earlier question.

   "Pick me at seven," Brian said, tucking in his shirt and shutting the
office door behind him.

   Ricky sighed. Shit, somehow his plan to throw Brian off-balance, to make
that man so irritated with him to a point that the man wouldn't look too
closely at Ricky's activities, had backfired. He reached for the phone and
dialed a number.  Poor Brian - each time they met, Ricky ended up playing
him for a fool.

   Guilt and anticipation warring in his chest, he waited until the person
at the other line answered.

   "Mr Fraser? I have something I should better tell you."


THREE

"I want Enriquez Morales fired."

   "No, I won't fire him." Brendan Fraser sounded amused.

   Disgusted, Brian kicked at a pebble before him. "He has no respect for
authority."

   "I take it he doesn't bow before you like everyone else." There was
clear laughter in Brendan's voice now.

   "He's intentionally rude and he told me I'm insignificant in his scheme
of things." Brian realized that he was close to sounding like a petulant
brat. "And what do mean? No one bows before me."

   "He told you that?" Brendan hooted. "For that, I'm upping his pay."

   "Well, I gotta go." Brian saw Ricky's simple battered car coming from
the corner. "See you." He cut off Brendan's answer and shoved his cell
phone into his coat pocket. He picked up his guitar and waited. For the
first time in a long time, he was looking forward to a date. Funny - the
man was rude and insulting, yet Brian found nothing but amusement in his
heart at Ricky.

   Ricky, Ricky, Ricky. Their kiss had just inflamed his lust and
curiosity, and he darned well intended to further that kiss into something
more. For the fiftieth time in the hour he imagined the great fuck that
would have taken place if Ricky hadn't pushed him away. And the painful
throb in his groin only made him aware of how long it had been since a man
actually drove him this hard.

   "Step into my parlor," he murmured when Ricky pulled up.


"So this is the apartment of the infamous Whip," Ricky said.

   "What `Whip'? That's a stupid name they gave me. I'm just Brendan's
right hand man." Brian took Ricky's coat off him, his hand sending chills
up Ricky's spine.

   Ricky thought of the name `Whip' - it was appropriate. He knew, for it
was an open secret, that the unassuming, quiet young man was Brendan
Fraser's most dangerous weapon. It was Brian who spearheaded the instant
cleaning up of an oil spill in the Pacific Ocean when Brendan's tanker
sank, and the fast action prevented his employer from being sued billions
and saved the company's reputation. Likewise, many of Brendan Fraser's
mishaps and accidents that would cost any other men their reputations and
fortunes were repaired and covered up by Brian, and when heads rolled, it
was Brian who did the ruthless cutting down.

   Brian was twenty-eight last June. Young indeed, but already his
appearance struck fear in many players in the industry even as they tried
their best to lure this man over to their camp. Nothing Brian did was
against the law, but he could bend them - a valuable asset in a world where
only the most mercenary survived. Yet Brian was loyal to Brendan.

   Ricky wondered if Brian realized how much Ricky knew of Brian's past,
that Brian wasn't a Harvard business grad he claimed, things even Brendan
didn't know.

   "Coffee? Champagne?" Brian switched on the light.

   Ricky couldn't help smiling. Brian's pad was that of a man who obviously
couldn't outgrow his obsession with childhood. A large stuffed Garfield
dominated the couch, huddled beside Donald Duck and Winnie the
Pooh. Pictures of Disney characters vied for space on the ornate
mantelpiece and on the wall. Car models and model trains lined the
cabinets. It was a perpetual toy paradise. "Wow."

   "There's more in the bedroom. Care to see?"

   "No." Ricky swallowed nervously. Coming in was a big mistake.

   "You're still mad about Roy?" Brian sat beside him and placed two
glasses on the table. He switched on the TV, to a Bugs Bunny cartoon. "I'm
sorry he hissed at you."

   "I'm not mad. Really, I don't get into cat fights over a man."

   "Roy's nothing to me. He's just a guy who's just a diversion." Brian bit
his lip.  That sounded callous even to his ears. "I mean, we were just
having some affair that is long over."

   "Jeremy told me your boyfriends have come for the art industry since
Brendan assigned you here," Ricky murmured. "Mixing business with
pleasure. I salute you - the information you gleaned in their beds must
make your boss happy."

   "I'm not taking anything that isn't freely offered, I assure you. Look,
if you want me to be exclusively yours for the time being, just say so and
I'll oblige." Brian reached close and his tongue snaked out to taste
Ricky's right ear. "I'll sleep with you. I'll even let you stay the night."

   Ricky's eyes darkened with desire, Brian noted with satisfaction, but
the man, fuck him, pulled away. "I said, not so fast," Ricky
said. "Please."

   Brian gritted his teeth. He'd offered to spend the night with Ricky,
hell, something he hadn't done with anyone before. He'd even offered his
monogamy and stud service exclusively for this man. What more did Ricky
want? "Fine, we'll go slow," he conceded.

   He stood up and blatantly adjusted his erection before reaching for the
answering machine. Ricky sat back and listened to the various messages.
Brian's family sure demanded a lot of his attention. Ricky counted two
messages from uncles asking for a loan, an aunt asking Brian to convince
her son to take up business, the son calling up to ask Brian to tell the
mother to back off, and several call-back-urgent messages.

   Brian reached the end of the tape and calmly discarded the tape into the
trash.  "The Littrell Help Center," he told Ricky. "They have been calling
even after I tell them I'm not going to run their lives for them. Fucking
lot, the whole of them.  They never even send me a card during my stay in
the hospital, and they still expect me to give them money?" A part of him
wondered why he was telling Ricky this. "They think I'm the Solve-It
Energizer Bunny."

   "I don't blame them. You are a capable man."

   "Any smart person with a brain would be." Brian sat back on the couch
and shut his eyes. "Look, maybe you ought to go. I'm pretty tired all of a
sudden."

   This was his chance to escape. Yet Ricky looked at the man, and felt his
heart weighed. He had seen how people reacted to the silent charisma that
Brian, unwittingly perhaps, radiated. When Brian walked in a crowd, people
moved away without thinking, because Brian was. well, scary. Something
about him wasn't stable, there was always an element of danger behind
Brian's calm, brown eyes. And Ricky was afraid too, yes, but he was also
attracted to the danger. And now, to his dismay, he realized he was just as
moved by the tired, vulnerable human barely visible under Brian's tight
control.

   He really shouldn't, but he placed his palm on Brian's forehead. Normal,
no fever. "Maybe you should meet my family in Puerto Rico," he murmured.

   "They're still there?"

   "Mum and Dad wouldn't want to come over, while my brothers and sisters
have their families there. They love dancing and music."

   Brian kissed the man's fingertips. "Maybe one day you'll take me to
visit them."

   "Maybe."  Ricky couldn't breathe, not when Brian was so close, this
close that his body heat burned Ricky. He couldn't give in, not when there
were already so much between them. "Brian, I -"

   "You won't hurt me."

   "What?" In a daze, Ricky watched Brian place a finger on his lips, and
he could almost taste the man's skin.

   "I know you have secrets, Ricky. And it's okay. They won't hurt me."
Brian smiled, the smile crooked and rakish. "I'll let you keep them for
now."

   "I never meant to hurt you." Brian was in the way. Ricky reached, then
hesitated. His hand was over exactly where Brian bore the scar when the
metal rod went right through. He recalled the man's feral words, and he
couldn't help it: fear seized him at the thought of being at this man's
mercy. Fear and a heavy surge of arousal.

   He felt mouth on his navel. "Bri?" he murmured, looking down. When had
Brian manage to unbutton the lower half of Ricky's shirt? Then Brian was
there, tasting the soft skin of his stomach, his tongue gliding and licking
the soft supple skin while feeling the hard muscles underneath. And when
Brian's right hand lifted to Ricky's belt buckle, deftly unbuckling the
belt, Ricky didn't resist. Brian only murmured something incoherent as he
lapped at Ricky's navel, the tongue dipping shallowly into the groove, as
his hand hooked into the waistband of Ricky's briefs and pulled both
trousers and briefs down his thighs. His penis stood hard, throbbing and
jutting straight up, only inches away from Brian's cheek as he made his way
down Ricky's body. Then Brian's lips hotly closed over the tip of Ricky's
cock, the tongue making circular swirls around the slit and the mouth
sucking at the clear salty fluid droplets already seeping from it.

   It wasn't fair for this man to service him. "Brian, please. Turnabout's
fair play."

   Brian's mouth reluctantly left him, and they both sighed at the loss,
simultaneously. And it embarrassed him as it embarrassed Brian to realize
that.  "I have a feeling this is going to be great between us," Ricky
couldn't help saying, his heart beating like a nuclear reactor in meltdown
as he watched Brian unbuckled his belt and pulled his zip down. Brian's
thick cock was already throbbing in eager anticipation, and when Ricky
greedily sucked it down his throat, he felt Brian's mouth on him again.

   On the couch, in a tangle of limbs, they fed each other's mouth
greedily. Brian was on top, and he couldn't help grunting softly with each
rough thrust, the pleasure of the friction of his cock crown rubbing
against the smooth, wet roof of Ricky's mouth almost unbearable. His
damaged heart sang along with each increasingly closer plunge to his
climax. Ricky too was losing control, his hips buckling up, almost throwing
Brian off with each upward thrust, and Brian sucked, swallowed the leaking
semen, and reveled in the scent of Ricky's sex in his senses.

   Ricky never noticed, and Brian hoped the man never did, that a stray
tear flowed down Brian's right cheek even as he gasped and spilled his
climax into Ricky's greedy mouth.


"It would feel better, much better, I assure you, if we come up each
other's asshole," Brian murmured as he nuzzled Ricky's sweat-soaked hair
three nights later. They lay on his great coat that was their makeshift bed
on the grass and Brian gazed at the night sky. "Much better."

   It was stupid the way he held his breath, waiting for Ricky's answer as
if it was the most important thing he would ever want to listen to. It
wasn't. Ricky was just a temporary diversion, like all the others. But, his
heart acknowledged where his brain daren't, somehow Ricky had done
something no one else had.

   Ricky made him feel. He hadn't felt anything remotely resembling human
emotion in years, except when he was singing in Club Abracadabra, but
Ricky, sweet dear Ricky, Ricky made him laugh. And Ricky never treated him
like a scary bulldog. Letting his guard down and laughing more than he ever
had in his life were novel traits in his life.

   He didn't know how to deal with it. For once, he wished he was good with
words like Mike or Ethan or Jeremy, he wished he could offer poetry and
make Ricky laugh like the way the man make him laugh.

   "Don't rush things, please," Ricky said softly.

   Brian willed himself to turn away from the stars and to Ricky. He hoped
his hurt wasn't showing in his eyes. "Why? You want me, I want you, why
can't we fuck?"  He trailed his finger along Ricky's back, once again
marveling at the softness of Ricky's skin, soft yet so strong in the
muscular tensile strength.

   Ricky turned to his side, exposing his front nude body to Brian. Brian
felt savage pride at the sight of the red bruise at Ricky's left nipple,
made by Brian's overeager lips, and the stray trickle of Brian's semen at
the corner of Ricky's lips.  He wanted Ricky to be marked as his in any
way, in all way. His sperm swimming in Ricky's systems would be the
ultimate possession, and Brian's cock leapt to life at that image.

   Mine, he thought as he pulled Ricky over him. "How long more?" he
demanded even as pulled Ricky's lips down to his.

   "Two weeks." In two weeks his mission would be done and they would be
free to start again or not.

   "Two weeks," Brian repeated, not liking the length, but for Ricky, he
would wait.  He was good at waiting, hell, he had been waiting for Ricky
all his life.


FOUR

"I can't do it. I won't lie to him anymore," Ricky told the man at the
other end of the phone.

   "You have no choice," Brendan Fraser said. "We have everything riding on
you, not only the museum, but Interpol and Comtech. You can't back out." He
softened his voice. "Ricky, Brian will understand more than you'll
think. In a way he's used to intrigue and betrayals."

   At his office, Ricky shut his eyes in pain. Brian was used to being
betrayed. He told Ricky one night as they lay on his Scoody Doo bed, that
he had learned since young never to expect anything above minimal from
anymore - everyone would disappoint eventually. Poor Brian. Ricky was one
of these.

   "Very well," he said to Brendan even as his heart broke into a million
pieces.  He was a bastard, the lowest of low. Perhaps he should just walk
out of Brian's life.

   A part of him was serious when he told Brian he would love to introduce
the man to his family. Logic told him that he had to be mad to be attracted
to a former man who arranged assassinations and carried out a few himself,
among other activities that no one else would do. But damn logic - Ricky
believed Brian when he said he would never hurt Ricky, and he believed when
Brian told him of his past, his sins, his crimes. Yes, Brian told him his
secrets, making a nonchalant display out of it.

   Ricky knew, if Brian didn't yet, that Brian's telling him of his darkest
secrets was damning evidence of Brian's falling in love with him. And that
cut him deepest, because he couldn't see how he could repay Brian's
na‹ve trust with anything but betrayal.

   He put his head into his hands and wept.


"I'll come in." Brian placed his hands at each side of Ricky's head as the
man bent to place the key in the doorknob. "I've never seen your place
before."

   Ricky stood up and found himself enveloped by Brian's quiet
strength. "Sure?  It's still pretty empty."

   "More room for us then." Brian pulled a bottle of champagne from his
coat.  "Let's put this in ice."

   Ricky's blood burned. "Two weeks are up," he murmured.

   "Oh yes."

   Ricky swallowed, and stopped hesitating. One night. They deserved one
night, and the morning after be damned. Brian was already casually
unbuttoning Ricky's shirt one by one, even though they were still standing
on the front way.  "My neighbor is an 80-year old woman. If she sees us her
heart would stop," Ricky hissed, fumbling at the doorknob.

   Brian's answer was the unzipping of Ricky's trousers.

   The door barely closed when Ricky, his shirt hanging loose and open on
his body and his trousers falling to his ankles, found himself pressed
against the door. He steadied himself, spread his legs, his asshole already
puckering with lust. Fuck foreplay - Brian tore at his zipper and when his
cock sprang out, he spat on it, and rammed the slick shaft up Ricky's
heated anus. Ricky howled at the penetration, lifting his hips and slamming
his buttocks into Brian's crotch, begging the man to shove it deeper.

   Each hard pump sent loud slapping sound of flesh meeting wet flesh, in
rhythm with the thudding of Ricky's body hitting the door at each thrust of
Brian. Then Brian's mouth was at Ricky's neck, then the ma actually sank
his teeth gently at the nape, and Ricky lost it. He shuddered, groaned, and
clawed into the door as he came, his semen gushing from his raised balls
along his stiff throbbing shaft to spray heavily into Brian's waiting
hand. Then Brian was pulling out, and he swiftly spread the semen on his
hand along his cock, slicking it until it was glistening with a coat of
lubrication, then he roughly penetrated Ricky again.

   "Oh fuck, Bri, have mercy," Ricky gasped, clinging to the doorway weakly
when Brian's rough pumping resumed. He lost sense of time or space,
everything but the glorious sensation of that big thick cock shafting him
again and again and again. Brian's breathing was harsh, and he was making
soft obscene oaths as his speed increased. He was practically slamming his
groin, each thrust resounding in loud wet crack as his pubic bone rammed at
Ricky's, the savage impact cushioned by Ricky's hard yet taut
buttocks. Then Ricky felt Brian's cock thicken with semen surging along
that shaft, spreading Ricky's anus even wider, and when Brian lifted his
groin, then rammed in hard and down a steeper angle, that thick cock crown
jamming right past to roughly nudge Ricky's prostate, Ricky had his second
white hot and cataclysmic climax. If not for Brian's holding him still, he
would had fallen to the floor.


Ricky watched the silhouette of Brian bathing in the shower two hours
later. He had made up his mind as to what to do. Brian's slim body, an
enigma in itself, fascinated him. The man followed a strict gym and
exercise regiment to keep his heart in working condition, but he had never
allowed his body to attain the muscle-carved perfection everyone aspired to
have. "Are you crazy? First rule of being a spy is never to look like a
spy," Brian had said. "Get a muscle-bound body and I'll look even more
fucking scary."

   "You're scary enough already," Ricky said, and Brian laughed.

   "You think I should get a better body?" he asked when he could stop
laughing.

   "No," Ricky had answered truthfully, a part of him amazed at how easy he
made Brian laugh. "I like you the way you are already."

   Now, he had to break Brian. He walked and pushed open the shower stall
door.

   Brian, beautiful Brian, his body slick with shower foam, turned to
him. His smile didn't change when he saw the tears in Ricky's eyes, but his
eyes darkened into inscrutable darkness. His words threw Ricky
off-guard. "So, Nightshade, you want to tell me everything? `Bout time," he
said gently.

   "You knew?" Ricky whispered.

   "Always. The moment I kiss you. The moment you kiss my scar as if you
are sorry and would walk fire to make it up to me two hours ago." Brian
lifted his right hand to Ricky.

   Ricky took it. "And you sleep with me? Why?"

   "Because it doesn't matter to me what you did in the past.  I know about
your stealing back your things from the men who cheated your mentor and
caused him to kill himself. I applaud it, in fact. Ssh," he said when Ricky
made to speak.  "Once I told you your secrets wouldn't hurt me, Ricky, and
trust me, they don't."

   "I'm sorry." Ricky's voice trembled. "I'm so sorry."

   Brian sighed and pulled the man into his embrace. "There, there,
love. Just be grateful I'm not like other men, for then I won't be so
forgiving." Ricky didn't even chuckle. The man was heaving as if he was
crying tearlessly, and Brian couldn't stand that. He made Ricky face him
and tried to smile his brightest.

   "I should've told you. I never should've lied to you."

   Because he heartily agreed, Brian tried to switch topics. "Look, let us
finish this shower, get some hot chocolate, you tell me everything, and we
watch the cartoon network `til morning, okay?"

   Ricky nodded, and Brian kissed him.



FIVE

The Interpol's trap didn't work. Rick's security code convinced the
notoriously infamous art thief Billy Zane that he had succeeded in breaking
it, and when he stepped into the museum dead of night, security was there
waiting.

   "But he managed to escape, though rumor has it, not before kissing
Jeremy right on the mouth," Brian said with a laugh. His ran his fingers
lazily through Ricky's hair as the man placed his head on his lap.

   He was laughing more these days. In fact, he was actually happy. Now all
he had to do was to convince the man with him that it didn't matter that
Ricky had lied. Brian didn't care, hell, to be honest he had no clear
concept of what right or wrong was. All he knew was that this was the right
thing, Ricky was the right thing. But how to put all those in words?

   He looked down at Ricky.

   Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat, and asked Ricky, "Would you
like to go to Disneyland with me?"