Date: Mon, 21 Aug 2000 07:45:06 +0800
From: Lady Poetess <egiggles@moose-mail.com>
Subject: The Gentlemen's Club: Dawson

THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Dawson

By and copyright Lady Poetess

Disclaimer
This story is entirely fictitious and any resemblance to anyone dead or alive is
coincidental.

Note
Dawson James Smith is purely my imagination, inspired by a certain frail man
who played a mutant shark in an episode of The X-Files (Hungry).


ONE

"Oh God, let me get through this alive," the young man said nervously under his
breath. Gripping the baseball bat in shaky fingers, he tried to get his breathing
under control. One more mistake and he would be out of the game.

   He shouldn't be here. He was the permanent figure on the bench, holder of one
of the worst batting records in the history of the team. If Danny Betts didn't break
his thumb during practice, Dawson James Smith would still be watching the
game from the bench.

   Cold sweat running down his face, he tried to keep breathing and focus. He
couldn't hear anything, not the crowd, but he saw the player throw the ball. The
ball cracked through the air, hurtling toward Dawson in breakneck speed.

   He swung the bat with all his might, closing his eyes tight as he staggered in
the momentum of the swing. He heard the loud "Out!" and sighed in resignation.
Screw-up Smith had struck again.


The man standing at the audience bit his knuckles as he watched the baseball
player walked, defeated, from the field. He was a tall, slim yet well built man
whose square face and aristocratic nose bestowed upon him the regal presence
of calm confidence and indomitable will. A discerning eye would be attracted to
the way his light blue shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders, the way his
biceps filled his shirtsleeves, and the muscular thighs.

   Jeremy Northam, who was sitting in the audience watching as poor Dawson
walked off the field, was definitely attracted, but he was attracted to Jason Patric
the way one would look at a Raphaelite painting -- Jason was pleasing to the eye
(if one went for beefy sorts). Jeremy had spoken to the man well enough to know
that Jason's low baritone could send low shivers of delight up one's spine.
Everything about Jason was quiet strength and an air of dependability. Jason
was solid, real, and dependable.

   Like a pet dog.

   No, Jeremy wasn't attracted -- sexually -- to Jason. The other man was too dull
for his tastes, even if Jeremy wasn't currently seeing someone he shouldn't be
seeing, and even more, Jason was Dawson's brother. Not by blood, of course,
but Jason was the son of Dawson's father's best friend. When Lourdes and Liam
Patric were killed in a car accident, Dawson's family took the then ten-year old
boy in.

   And it was plain to see that young Dawson was hopelessly in love with Jason.
Stealing Jason away from Dawson would be akin to beating a puppy with a
baseball bat. Jeremy wasn't into masochistic games. He liked Dawson a lot
despite the latter's whiny, hapless personality.

   Jeremy knew enough from Walter Smith's reminiscences that he and his wife
had never expected a child of their own. When Dawson was born the year after,
Jason took the brotherly care thing a bit too far and became even more
protective of the frail, sickly boy than Walter himself or his wife.

   "I know I can count on Jason to take care of Dawson," Walter had said before
he finally succumbed to lung cancer two years ago. "Dawson is always a sick
boy, and he has this case of low self-esteem so many therapy sessions couldn't
get rid off. But hell, I can die in peace."

   "I don't know, Walt," Jeremy had said to his mentor, the man who believed in
him enough to provide him the loan that helped him set up his security firm. "I do
wonder if Jason is really happy. From what I have seen of him, he has
suppressed everything out of his life except caring for Dawson. You told me that
Jason forgone his prom night to take Dawson to the movies more than twenty
years ago. Such behavior is extreme even for brothers. It can be pretty
unhealthy."

   Walt just coughed and shrugged. "My wife and I used to talk about this when
she was alive. But one thing I can say, since he was a child, Jason never listened
to anyone but himself. If he is doing this out of some misguided debt he believes
he owes us, he won't listen if I tell him there's no debt between us. And somehow
he would have convinced himself that he is caring for Dawson because he loves
doing it."

   Now, as Jeremy watched Jason standing there, stiff and silent, the man's
unmoving posture radiating barely controlled temper, he felt an eerie chill seizing
him. At that moment, as Jason looked down at the sight of the coach yelling at
Dawson, the man looked as if he could kill the coach for hurting his precious
Dawson.

   A man would walk to the ends of the earth for a man like Jason. Jeremy
wondered of Dawson knew how lucky he was to have the devotion and loyalty of
such a man.

   Shaking off his momentary whimsy, he focused his attention to the very
handsome, very bland man talking to Jason. This had to be one of the many men
who had flitted through Jason's life, doomed to impermanence because there
was no room for any of them in Jason's closeted heart.

   "I don't see why we have to spend the afternoon sweating in this stadium
looking at some loser team getting trashed," the man said loudly.

   Jeremy could have told the man his faux pas. Jason turned to the man, the
expression on his face was as if he was seeing the man for the first time and he
really disliked what he saw. A trickle of blood flowed down from the bite mark on
his knuckles, ignored, as Jason told the man in a voice of pure ice, "Go home,
Marcus."

   "I'll meet you at home."

   "Go home to Paris," Jason clarified.

   With that, the man just turned his back and walked away from the shocked
Marcus. Jeremy shook his head and walked up to the poor, just jilted man. "Sorry
old boy, but obviously you haven't known him long enough if you think you can
mock Jason's beloved Dawson's first ball game in three years and get away with
it. You do know Dawson, don't you?" Jeremy asked blithely. "Medium height guy,
too thin, with dark brown floppy hair and sad puppy eyes?"

   "Who the fuck are you?" Marcus demanded.

   "Just a family friend." Jeremy tipped his cap at Marcus. "Here's an unsolicited
advice: next time, no matter how gorgeous or how good he is in bed, never
choose the one that comes with a baggage."


Dawson's bitterness evaporated like snow in summer when he saw the man
waiting for him. The man grinned only for him and opened his arms wide.
Dawson released a laugh of exuberance.

   "Jason!" he cried, almost tearfully, as he ran across the car park. "Jason,
Jason, Jason," he kept calling, as if he was afraid this moment was just a product
of his imagination.

   He jumped into Jason's arms, colliding with a solid wall of masculinity, hard
muscles, and supple, soft skin. Jason's arms wrapped around his back tightly as
Dawson pressed his face into the man's shoulders, inhaling Jason's cologne
even as he tried to hold back tears. "I miss you so much, Jason," he couldn't help
sobbing.

   Jason pushed him back slightly to look at him. "Hey, I was only away for four
weeks," he said, his grin wide. If Dawson looked into his eyes closely, the man
would see the relief reflected in his eyes. "Anyway, I'm home now."

   Dawson tried to control his overwrought emotions as relief, joy, and other
unidentifiable feelings surged through him. Jason was here again and everything
would be okay now. "I'm sorry you have to see my strike-out," he said softly.

   Jason playfully ruffled his brother's shaggy hair. "Hey, forget baseball. What
say we get something to eat? I have some great things for you in the car, but
you'll have to listen to me talk about my trip first."

   "Did you get the contract?" Dawson asked, more concerned about Jason, as
always.

   "Is there any doubt I won't get it?" Jason answered with a quirky lift of his
brows. "Come on, let's go celebrate."

   Dawson grinned. He couldn't help the feeling of warm pride overwhelming him
as he looked at Jason's visage. His adopted brother, tall and invincible, could do
anything. Dawson had never seen the man fail in anything in his life, and was
proud all the more of Jason for that.

   Jason was his anchor, his sanity, and his protector, comforter, and best friend.
They had nothing in common, the perfect overachiever and the gawky kid
everyone called Screw-up Smith, but their life together was the only moment of
joy in Dawson's life. Therefore he really shouldn't blame himself for being utterly
in love, definitely most in love in the most improper manner, with Jason since he
was thirteen.

   Fighting off the twinge of melancholy that nothing would come out of his secret
love for the man, he tried to drown in Jason's arms. "Where's the boyfriend you
say you're going to show me?" he asked.

   "Who?"



That night Jason was walking back from the bathroom when he heard the soft
sobs from Dawson's room. He paused and placed his hand on the doorknob
when he hesitated. Poor Deuce (his nickname for Dawson) -- he always tried so
hard. Pushing open the door, he called softly, "Deuce?"

   He pretended not to see Dawson's quick wiping of his eyes. "Deuce, it's okay.
Forget about the baseball game. You just need some practice," he said.

   On Dawson's part, he felt his tears welled up even more at the sound of
Jason's voice. "I'm not crying," he said shakily, pulling his sheets up to his neck.
"Go away, Jase."

   Jason was a tall, solid presence, and Dawson knew, somewhere in him, that
Jason, the always-reliable man, would comfort him when he needed the man. In
a way, it seemed proper and expected that Jason would know that he was
hurting. "I'm just being silly," he told Jason. "Silly pathetic me is just being childish
as usual."

   He started when Jason's voice sounded close to his ears. "Move over," Jason
said, and Dawson realized Jason had shut the door behind him and walked to
stand beside Dawson's bed. "Come on," Jason urged softly.

   Only when Jason's heavy weight eased beside him did Dawson realize that his
brother was very naked except for a very thin pair of running shorts. He felt his
own cock jumped to life when Jason's muscular arm wrapped around his waist
and the man's hard-muscled chest pressed against the length of Dawson's back.
Jason's hairy, hard thigh slowly eased between Dawson's legs until it rested
under the heated juncture of Dawson's thighs, and Jason's cock bulge pressed
against Dawson's buttock. They used to sleep together like this, back when
Dawson was younger, only now Dawson was a man who knew desire.

   It was Dawson's private hell that with him, Jason was always unrestrained in
touching him. The man was always reserved when he was with anyone else, but
with Dawson, he had no inhibitions in touching the man casually, sometimes
habitually, on the shoulders, waist, arms, and hands. Even touch burned Dawson
in frustrated desire, thrilling him even as his brain screamed against the agony of
knowing Dawson was only torturing himself with each of Jason's familiarity with
him.

   Like now.

   "I am never going to be good in sports," Dawson said, closing his eyes in
pleasure. Jason's touch was all he ever needed. "I always wanted to be like you,
you know," he said bitterly.

   "I wouldn't want that, Deuce. You're just perfect to me the way you are," Jason
said softly in that tender, comforting voice he did so well.

   "People talk, you know," Dawson said just as quietly. He could feel Jason's
heartbeat against his body, a steady tattoo of strength and virility. "They said you
and I are -- " He couldn't say it. Even when he secretly delighted in hearing the
whispers and reveled in the mistaken assumption, he couldn't bear it if Jason's
happiness was ruined in the process.

   "What are they saying, that we are actually fucking each other? I've heard that
before," Jason said bluntly. He took a deep breath, seemingly unaware that the
man in his embrace acutely felt every rise and fall of his chest. "I don't care what
they say. Fuck 'em."

   "You never did care what people say, and they love you for that."

   "Wrong. I care about what you say about me," Jason said, and his sincerity
made the triteness of the statement pale in its heartfelt earnestness. "After all,
you're my only best buddy and favorite brother. I won't change you any other
way, Deuce."

   "Thanks Jase. I feel much better already." It was the truth. Only Dawson didn't
dare turn to look at Jason, or he would end up revealing his feelings for this man.

   "Good. I hate to see you miserable. You know, if you like, you can come sleep
with me anytime you like, just like the old days," Jason said, pressing his chin
against Dawson's shoulder. "You know I never lock my bedroom door."

   "Except when some man's visiting," Dawson teased.

   "Hey, say the word and I will send them all away," Jason answered. "It's
embarrassing, but I do miss the old days when you will climb into my bed after a
nightmare."

   "I don't have nightmares anymore," Dawson whispered.

   "But I do," Jason answered, then chuckled. "Go to sleep, Deuce. I'll hold you
until morning."




TWO

"I love him," Dawson said miserably.

   "You love him, and it's probably one-sided. Big fucking deal. You're luckier than
most people are. Your crush dotes on you," Ryan Phillippe, angelic and golden,
said.

   "That's what killing you, I suppose," Joshua Hartnett said. "It will be so much
easier if he lets you know that he hates you."

   "I don't see the problem, really. If he loves you that much, it'll be pretty easy to
push him into seeing you as someone more than a brother," Michael Owens --
Mikey to everyone -- added, frowning at his cards. Unlike the other three, he was
still unable to master the intricacies of poker.

   "He loves me, but not the way I want him to." Dawson rubbed his face wearily,
a gesture his friends realized mirrored the way the object of his affection did in
stressful situations. "I know I'm greedy, but I want all of him. But I am also
terrified that I would lose what I have of him if I screw up. Like everything else I
did in my life."

   Among the five men, Dawson was the only one unattached. He envied his
friends, really. All five of them met through their older boyfriends, except for
Dawson who knew them via Jason. Being the youngest and hence the most
restless of the lot, they fast formed their own clique.

   "Maybe you ought to find someone," Joshua suggested. "Someone who would
take Jason off your mind."

   "I'm looking, I'm looking," Dawson said in resignation. "Too bad that's all I'm
doing."

  "Listen, Daws. I know a friend who's single and has a decent, nice, sensitive
personality. Care to meet him?" Wesley Bentley, the fifth member of the clique,
interjected, pushing aside his cards carelessly.

   "Sure." Then, remembering that Wes' friends tended to run into the wild,
unpredictable sorts, he asked warily, "Do I know him?"

   "I don't think you do. I knew him through Tobey myself. He's thirty, name's
Robert Downey, with a Jr at the end, and he's pretty boring." Wes grinned. "Just
your type."


Jason Patric celebrated his thirty-second birthday last week in a haze of too
much alcohol and sex he didn't even enjoy in a Parisian hotel room with the
boyfriend (ex-boyfriend, he amended) whose name he couldn't even remember.
He didn't even know why he bothered with the now-forgotten ex, except that he
was so homesick and missing his Dawson in those four weeks he languished in
Paris, working a deal to allow his company to form a partnership with the largest
telecommunications firm there.

   He had no doubts about his chances at success. After all, he knew himself to
be a hardworking, capable man whom people could talk to and trust easily. He
was blessed with an easy smile, genuine reliability, and he wouldn't mind if
people clung to him for his strength or comfort. In fact, people relying on him was
the only sort of life he knew, ever since he saw a blue-eyed baby in a nursery of
a hospital and was told tearfully by the man he loved as a father, "That's
Dawson, your brother."

   "Deuce," he called. "I'm home."

   He placed the champagne in a bucket of ice and hummed to himself as he
cleaned two glasses. "Deuce," he called again, frowning when he realized
Dawson wasn't running down from his room upstairs. For the first time he
wondered if Dawson had found a job he hadn't informed Jason. Jason shrugged.
He knew, as a fact, that Dawson would never hide anything from him.

   Damn, where was Dawson? "Deuce?" he yelled, becoming more agitated by
the minute as the silence stretched and still no Dawson. He was about to wipe
his hands and pound up the stairs in panic -- please let it not be another asthma
attack -- when he saw the note pasted at the back of the door.

   "Jase, I'll be back late tonight. I'm going out with a friend," Dawson had written
in his shaky handwriting.

   He had never realized how much he had counted on Dawson being at home,
eager and impatient for his attention, until now. Jason felt a momentary rage
wash over him. So strong was its intensity that it caught him off-guard. When he
got his feelings under control, he looked at his hand and realized almost stupidly
that he had crushed the glass he was holding to pieces.


"I have a great time," Dawson said at eleven o' clock that night as he stood
outside his house. "Thanks, Rob."

  "No problem."

   Robert Downey, Jr was lean, dark-haired, and had an easy wit. He was the
perfect anti-Jason. Dawson knew the moment he set eyes on the man, however,
that Robert wouldn't be anything more than a nice guy to him. And doubtless
Robert felt the same way too, for their date was more of a friendly chat between
two guys about baseball than anything even covertly sexual in nature.

   "Hey, if you want some baseball pointers, I can teach you," Rob said. "I'm in the
area for this week. If you like, we can practice your swing."

   Dawson grinned. "You're gonna put your hands on my hips and waist?"

   The other man only returned the grin. "I doubt any of us would get any hot
flushes out of that."

   True. "Sure," Dawson said. Besides, he liked Rob and who knew, maybe they
could work something out.

   Impulsively, catching Dawson by surprise, Rob leaned forward and kissed him.
It was one last test, of course, between them both. A treacherous chill only fell
over Dawson, however, as all his senses protested -- Rob wasn't Jason. When
Rob pulled back, Dawson saw only mild disappointment in the man's eyes.

   Obviously they weren't meant to be anything more than just friends.

   The door swung open, and Dawson, losing the support of the door against his
back, staggered. Jason wasn't looking at him, however, although his hands
reached out to steady Dawson in a firm grip on his shoulders. "Who the hell are
you?" Jason practically growled.

   Dawson looked at Jason in surprise. The man was always friendly, or at least
cordial, with everybody.

   "You must be the overprotective big brother," Rob said, taking a step back.
Wise man. "Dawson told me a lot about you."

   Jason just eyed the man with narrowed eyes, until Rob just shrugged and
turned to Dawson, "Pick you up for a game at four?"

   "Sure," Dawson said, and he could have sworn that Jason's stiff posture behind
him grew even more rigid. He watched Rob leave, aware more than aware of the
fiery heat emanating from the man behind him, standing so close that Dawson
knew if he leaned back, he would feel Jason's solid strength against his back.

   And being Dawson, he leaned back, and closed his eyes against the pleasure
of touching Jason and the pain that he would probably be always alone in his
painful love and lust for his brother.

   And Jason, being Jason, he sighed and placed his right hand around Dawson's
waist. "Come on in," he said.

    "You were really rude to Rob. What the hell is wrong with you?" he said, trying
to shake off the hypnotic trance of desire flaring in his loins at the burn of Jason's
touch on his waist.

   "Rob," Jason sneered. "So he is very close to you?"

   "He's just a date," Dawson answered, letting Jason pull him into the house. If
only he could believe that Jason was jealous of Rob. Jason wouldn't be, but it
was a nice fantasy nonetheless.

   "Don't see him anymore, I don't like his face."

   "Jesus, Jason, what the hell is wrong with you?" Dawson exclaimed.

   "Nothing. Next time you go out on a date, you tell me. I'm worried sick the
whole evening, Deuce!" Jason said forcefully. "Surely you can do more than to
leave a note for me?" He hissed in his breath in frustration. "Forget it. I just had a
bad day, okay?"

   "Where are you going?" Dawson asked as he watched the man reached for the
car keys on the table.

   "We've run out of milk," Jason said simply. "I'll be back soon."



"It just hit me that Deuce might have a social life," Jason said, sounding
absolutely miserable. "Or fucking hell, a sex life."

   Jeremy tried not to roll up his eyes in disgust. "He's twenty-two years old, Jase.
You don't expect him to stay at home and remain a kid forever, do you? More
beer?"

   Jason nodded absently, and studied the glass Jeremy was filling, looking most
confused. "He's still young. He shouldn't be having sex."

   "Listen to you, Jase, you sound positively geriatric. How old were you when you
got laid for the first time?"

   Jason growled. "Okay, I see your point. Is this how every parent feel when their
kids start growing up? Shit, I want to beat up Rob, break every bone in his body,
and make sure he never comes near Deuce again. And I don't even know him.
I'm fucking losing it."

   Jeremy had some ideas as to what was going on, but he kept it to himself. "Go
home, Jase, and please, get a life outside Dawson. Go find a nice man, woman,
whatever, get laid, and fall in love or something." He hesitated. "Dawson won't
always be there in your life, he will find someone and move out. For both your
sakes, get a life."

   Jason had gone pale and tense at Jeremy's words.

   "Everyone leaves, Jase. It's just a matter of time," Jeremy said quietly.


Dawson watched the rejection letters burn in the ashtray emotionlessly. The
letters he received so regularly had become a cliché in his life, and he now
burned them more of habit than of some childish fuck-you gesture at the people
who didn't find him worthy of even granting a job interview. But he'd had it being
a loser. The neatly-filled enrolment form for night classes at his side would be his
ticket to getting a college degree in English, and maybe in a few years he could
be his own man and be more of Jason's equal. Maybe then too Jason would see
him as someone worthy of his affections.

   He had no idea where these spirited initiatives came from, and he was pretty
sure he would screw things up somehow, but in the meantime, he felt great. He
had a vision and a long-term plan after all.

   But as long as he remained here, as Screw-up Smith, dependant on Jason for
everything, Jason would never see him as anything more than a helpless child.

   "I'm home," he heard Jason say, and looked at the clock. It was eleven. Trust
Jason to go off to sulk only to come home dutifully before midnight. Calm,
rational, practical Jason who never did anything stupid in his life -- Dawson
grinned to himself.

    "I'm in the kitchen," he called out, knowing that Jason would keep calling for
him until he answered.

   "What are you doing?" Jason asked curiously as he walked in and his hand
playfully massaged Dawson's shoulders. "You're signing up for night classes?"

   "Yeah. I just got a job at Mary Jo's place. It's just flipping burgers and hot dogs,
but at least it's a job. And at night I can go to night class and get a college
degree."

   "You'll be pretty much out of the house all the time then," Jason said flatly.

   "I guess it'll be good," Dawson said, forcing his ambivalent feelings to subside.
"You can have more time for yourself, and I can meet some new friends."

   "It's Rob, isn't it? He is filling your head with these nonsense," Jason said
sharply, walking up to stand across the table from Dawson, his face hard in fury.
"He's taking you away from me."

   "What are you talking about? I have these plans for quite awhile now. I'm
twenty-two, Jase, I don't want to be a screw-up anymore. It's time I try to help
myself." His burst of bravado faltered as a lifetime of indecisiveness and low self-
esteem reared its ugly head. "Jase, what? You think I'm aiming too high?"

   "Is my opinion that important to you, Deuce?" the other man asked softly.

   "Of course," Dawson answered, trying to keep his voice light. "Always."

   "Then do it." Jason sighed and looked down at his hands on the table. "It's just
hard for me to accept that you're growing up. Hell, I know you should do these
things, and I think it's great that you are doing them, but --" he hesitated -- "I won't
be seeing much of you then, will I?"

   "I guess not." Dawson hardened his resolve -- it was best for him to break away
from Jason even if it killed him. Surely Jason wouldn't be so cruel as to ask
Dawson to be close to him even while Dawson was dying inside from an
impossible love? "Like I said, I realized that I have been a crimp on your life.
Maybe now you can, I don't know, get a real boyfriend and settle down." The
image of Jason happy with someone, touching him, kissing him, fucking him, was
an excruciating agony.

   Face facts, he told himself forcefully. Life was a fucker that way.

   "Have you been talking to Jeremy?" Jason asked.

   "No. Why?"

   "Nothing. Look, I am happy with my life with you," Jason said slowly. "I don't
want a boyfriend. My life's fine as it is."

   "Mine isn't," Dawson told him. "Jason, look at me. I'm pathetic. All I do is fail
and cling to you afterwards for comfort. I can't live this way, Jason. I'm tired of
feeling like a failure, I'm sick of being mocked and called the Screw-up -- gee,
where did his successful and smart parents went wrong? -- and I can't live here,
not when you are... oh forget it." Dawson looked away before his eyes revealed
too much of his feelings for Jason. Even now, the thought of losing Jason hurt.

   "I'm losing you," Jason said, giving voice to Dawson's pain.

   "You'll never lose me," Dawson said, trying not to break down and beg Jason
not to look so stunned and pained.

   Jason was deaf to him, however. He just walked out of the kitchen, slamming
his fist hard into the wall on his way out.



THREE

Dawson saw the man watching him, and his concentration faltered. His swing
went haywire.

   "Oh man, that bulldog of yours is tenacious," Rob exclaimed, taking off his cap.
"What the hell is he doing here? He thinks I will sexually assault you or
something?"

   Dawson would have chuckled if he weren't so aware of Jason's dark, brooding
stare on him. "He's just overprotective."

   "He's not really your brother, is he?" Rob asked curiously as he prepared to
throw the ball another time.

   "He might as well be. He's adopted by my parents who thought they wouldn't
have any kids. I don't know why he hates you so much." Dawson looked
sideways at the tall figure watching them. "I guess he finds it hard to forget that
I'm not exactly his blood brother."

   Rob threw a nice one even as he said, "You know what I think? The problem
may be due to the fact that he's starting to realize just that -- you and he aren't
blood brothers."

   "What?" Dawson exclaimed, his surprise such that he reacted purely by
instinct. There was a loud crack and his swing caught the ball hard. Rob and he
watched in surprise as the ball arced across the field.

   Rob winced as there was a sound of breaking glass. "Good one," he said. "I
would slap you in the back if I'm not sure your bulldog wouldn't misconstrue it as
some sort of foreplay and break me into pieces."


Rob had the sense to flee, leaving Dawson to face Jason.

   "I told you not to see him," Jason started to say furiously. He hadn't said a word
when he ordered Dawson to get into his car, or along their drive home. But he
exploded the moment the front door was slammed shut most forcefully. Jason
never liked public displays of emotions.

   "I've had a great time," Dawson said simply. He had long learned that arguing
with Jason was futile, since Jason would only put a hurt expression and Dawson
would cave in. "That's reason enough to hang out with Rob."

   "Are you fucking him?" Jason yelled, startling Dawson.

   "No," Dawson said, taking a step back in fear. Jason had never lost his temper
before, in fact, Dawson didn't even know the man had one. Now, however,
Jason's face was murderous enough to kill. "Jason, I -- "

   "Are you going to fuck him?" Jason asked, his voice steadier now as he fought
to get a hold on himself.

   "He and I are just friends, damn it. What the fuck is wrong with you?" Dawson
said furiously, his bravado fuelled by his fear. "Rob treats me with respect and he
makes me laugh. And we're just that -- friends. I'm happy, Jase, so please don't
take that happiness from me. Ask me anything, and I would do it, but not this."

   "He made you laugh," Jason said softly. "He made you happy."

   "Jase, what's wrong?" Dawson asked, tenderly touching Jason's arm and felt
the man's muscle tensed under his touch.

   "Nothing -- nothing, I -- fuck." Jason turned angrily. "Fine, I don't know why I'm
acting this way. But all I know is that I can't bear it, Deuce. I want to be the only
one who can make you happy. I want you to laugh only for me. I want you to
cling on to me, needing me and only me. That's what I want, Deuce. Just you
and me, like before."

   "Oh Jase, do you know what you are saying?" Dawson felt his resolve waver
and his bravado break.

   "I don't like your plans, I don't like Rob, and I don't like this idea of you wanting
to be independent of me," Jason said. "That's all I know. Deuce, I gave
everything in my life to you! You are my life, and now you tell me you don't want
me. What the hell am I supposed to feel? Happy?" He broke back what sounded
like a sob. "I can't do this. Fuck, I'm going to bed. We'll talk in the morning."

   Dawson just watched helplessly, tears running down his face, as his life
stormed out of the room, a broken man at last.


He didn't know how long he had walked, or where he was going, but perhaps a
part of him did. For he found himself knocking at the door of Rob's motel room.

   "Hi," he said when Rob gawked at him. "Can I come in?"



"Sounds like he's nuts," Rob said, watching as Dawson gulped down the hot
coffee gratefully. He mulled over the tale Dawson had told him. "I'm sure things
will get back to normal when I leave this Friday."

   "I can't. Do you know what this means?" Dawson said. "He wants me
dependent on him, because he feels it is my due after all the years he has given
of himself to me. I love him. Rob, yes I do, I love him more than a brother, which I
guess you know already."

   Rob only shrugged.

   "And it will kill me to live with him this way, knowing there's no chance I can
ever -- " Dawson bit back a sob. "Anyway, he gets this insanely possessive of
me. If I stay with him, I will never be allowed to get a chance at being my own
man. I can't have him, he won't let me have anyone, and in the end I will go
mad."

   "There's an obvious solution to the problem," Rob said.

   "Which is?"

   "You can come with me. Not as a lover or anything, but I can put you up in a
room at my place until you get something up on your own. The only problem here
is what you will say to Jason, but then again, who says you need to tell him
anything face-to-face?"

   "Leave Jason?" An unbearable thought, but the alternative was worse. He
would die under Jason's misguided ideas of care.



"Hi." Jason smiled, the hint of uncertainty barely showing in its brilliance, as he
walked into the kitchen. "What are you making? Toast?"

   Dawson smiled weakly. His knees were trembling, and Screw-up Smith was at
the brink of losing all his resolution. But he had to do this, he told himself fiercely.
When Jason left for work, Dawson would leave a note and flee. It was a cowardly
thing to do, but he knew there was no way he could face Jason and tell the man
he was leaving, not without losing his nerves to his lust, love, and Jason's
charismatic magnetism.

   "Look, I'm sorry about last night." Jason placed his arms on Dawson's
shoulders and reached down to kiss the man's neck like a lover. "I'm not myself.
Forgive me?"

   Jason was touching him too much like an intimate lover that Dawson couldn't
take this. He gasped from the red haze of lust in his senses as he clumsily shook
off Jason's embrace. "You're forgiven," he muttered shakily, knowing as he did
that Jason wouldn't forgive him when he found out what Dawson did to him after
this.

   Jason was silent, standing still at the place where Dawson moved away from
him. "I found your bags," Jason said softly.

   Dawson froze, his hands on the table. Trust him to screw up even this. "Jase, I
--"

   "You're leaving me," Jason said, his voice disbelieving. "For that man? You're
dumping me just for some quick fuck?"

   Dawson edged towards the door. "I'm not fucking Rob," he said shakily. "I just
want to rearrange my wardrobe, and figured that it's easier to put my clothes in
the suitcases than messing them up on the bed." Coward, but even now he
couldn't tell Jason.

   Jason's eyes darkened dangerously. "You're lying. To me," he said. "You've
never lied to me before."

   Dawson tried to run out of the door, but Jason was faster, closing the door shut
before Dawson could reach it. "I won't let you leave me," the man growled.
"You're mine, Deuce. Don't you fucking get it? You can't leave me, because you
won't find anyone who will take care of you like me."

   "Jason, please," Dawson whispered.

   "You want fuck? I can fuck you," Jason said fiercely. His hands shook as he
slammed Dawson against the wall. "In fact, if that's what you want, I can give it to
you. Here, now."

   Not like this, please God, not like this, Dawson wanted to scream. He tried to
push the man off, but Jason was too large, too heavy. Dawson screamed when
Jason threw him flat on the floor. He closed his eyes, sobbing as he felt Jason's
merciless hands ripped his clothes off. Jason's woolen shirt rubbed against his
bare chest as the man roughly mounted Dawson. There was a loud sound of a
zip being pulled down, and then Dawson was sobbing through the blinding white
pain ripping through him when Jason's thick, swollen cock forged its way up his
anus. Jason was too large, Dawson felt as if he was being split in two.

   Rough, hard thrusts ripped through Dawson, sending waves of agony
spasming through him. Dawson tried to break free, but Jason's hands pinned his
to the floor, and the man's cock speared Dawson to the ground more effectively
than any weight. Dawson hated Jason at that very moment for destroying this,
destroying him, destroying them both with his mad jealousy.

   Jason's brutal thrusts were agonizing, but the man's eyes were the worst. The
man's eyes burned with lust, as if his jealousy had unleashed long suppressed
tidal waves of illicit lust for his brother. There was a brief moment of horror in
Jason's eyes upon his penetration, as if he had just realized what he had done to
them both. But Dawson's treacherous anus was too tight and only too willing to
close and convulse around his massive shaft, urging him on even as the man
fought him.

   Then Jason was kissing Dawson. A bruising kiss Dawson could take, but this
was a gentle tender kiss, almost apologetic in nature. "Forgive me," Jason
murmured then, as his thrusts slowed into a rhythm of a sensual lover's, "Oh
God, Deuce, forgive me."

   The softness in the man's voice was more merciless than the brutal thrusts
between Dawson's legs. In a slow melt, Dawson groaned as Jason's kiss
deepened into an orgy of sensual caresses with his tongue. The man's hands
released Dawson's arms from their bruising grip Dawson's thighs, and then he
was driving his cock up Dawson's ass more relentlessly.

   Then Jason was so deep up Dawson that Dawson gasped. And the man's
mouth was so gentle, so loving, just like the fantasy Jason in Dawson's dreams,
that Dawson couldn't resist kissing him back, holding the man close to him as
Jason gave a loud cry of triumph and thrust hilt deep one last time. His ejaculate
scorched Dawson's brutally raped anus, branding the man, and Dawson wept
bitterly even as his body became ravaged in his splintering climax.


Robert didn't ask when he saw the bruise on Dawson's arms and lips that
afternoon. "Shall we go?" he just asked.

   Thus, Dawson was gone when Jason opened his eyes. He groaned, the
excesses of last night's emotional turmoil giving him a headache. Jason reached
for Dawson, but when his hands touched only air, he called out the man's name.

   "Deuce," he called, heedless of his nudity as he climbed the stairs to Dawson's
room. But the room was empty. The bags were gone too from where Jason hid
them. "Deuce," he said softly, knowing even then that Dawson was gone but he
couldn't believe it. He couldn't stand it.

   A harsh sob broke from him as he fell on his knees. "Deuce," he said again,
this time in a ragged whisper, "please don't leave me." Only then did his bitter,
tears of defeat and regret begin to fall.





FOUR

Dawson looked at the man walking up to him. It was close to five and he was
eager to finish this batch and get off for the evening. He froze however when he
saw the familiar square-jawed face.

   "Hi," Jason Patric said, looking real breathtaking in his charming, confident self.

   "Hi." The burger fell to the floor. Dawson reached to pick it up, but Jason beat
him to it. "Hey, nice seeing you."

   "How's life?" Jason asked, tossing the soiled meat into the wastebasket
nearby.

   "Good. I have a job, and I'm taking night classes as planned. Studies are quite
a struggle, but I can manage," Dawson said nonchalantly. In truth, he had also
dreamed of Jason, hating him, loving him. "I'm staying in Rob's place, until I can
save up to pay rent."

   "Rob's good to you. That's nice." Jason hesitated. "You don't want to know how
I've been?"

   "Your life is always perfect," Dawson said.

   "No, not when you're not in it." Jason smiled in self-effacing bitterness. "I'm
envious of Rob. I have no idea how much I love you, or even how I love you, until
you're gone."

   "There is a time when I would have given anything to hear that."

   "I know you love me, and I like that. You make me feel important and whole. In
fact, you're the reason I work and do my best for everything I do." Seeing
Dawson's surprise, he clarified, "You believe in me and I love you for that. I
always do, because your belief in me makes me invincible. When Rob came in
and you started to pay attention to him, I couldn't take it. I didn't know then how
important you are to me. How much I have come to depend on you for my
strength -- " Jason hesitated, then said, "You're wrong, Deuce. I need you as
much as you need me. Maybe more."

   Dawson couldn't dare speak, but he did anyway. "Why are you telling me this,
Jase?"

   "I need to tell you this because I can't bear to have you hating me for my
abominable behavior that day towards you," Jason said, looking away in his pain.
"If I can't have you, at least let me have the knowledge that you'll forgive me?"

   When Jason was hurting and broken like this, a shell of the man he once was,
Dawson -- the stupid ass he was -- couldn't bear it. "Sure," he said shakily.

   "Then good." Jason tried to smile, but couldn't. "Thank you," he said, his voice
all uncertainty. "I love you, Deuce, and you've changed much in two months. I'm
happy for you and Rob," he said, but he couldn't hide his envy and bitterness.

   Dawson watched Jason turn to leave, and counted to five. "Jase, I am never
with Rob. We're good friends," he said. And it was now or never. "Don't go."


In the darkness of the Jason's hotel room, illuminated only by the bedside lamp,
they kissed.

   Jason touched Dawson's bruised lips, and looked at the drop of blood on his
finger. "I love you, Deuce," he said, before sucking at the drop on his finger.

   Dawson looked at the man and felt his breath catch. Jason was so beautiful,
his cavalier and gladiator who fought all of his battles for him. He tried to smile,
but failed as his trembling hands slowly fumbled with Jason's shirt. Jason lifted
his arms, he having no problem grinning as Dawson pulled the man's shirt off.
Dawson let his eyes feast on the perfectly formed muscular torso, and let his
hands touch the rock-hard pectoral muscle under soft, supple, and tanned skin.

   Jason's large hands closed over Dawson's even as the man leaned forward,
slanting his head as he rubbed his lips against Dawson's. His tongue snaked out,
rubbing along the shape of Dawson's lips, moistening them. Then Dawson
opened his mouth and answered Jason's kiss with his own.

   Their lust flared, and Dawson gasped when Jason roughly deepened the kiss.
Those lips worshipped Dawson's mouth, neck, ears, and shoulders. Dawson
could only gasp for breath in the one second when Jason stepped back. Even
then Dawson could only lift his arms in turn before Jason roughly pulled the
man's shirt over his head.

   Their now nude upper bodies in an embrace, Jason continued his exploration
of Dawson's flesh, letting his tongue trail along Dawson's frail collarbone and his
hands touching and feeling the too-thin man's frail body. He now had Dawson
lying on the couch, and he laughed softly when he looked at Dawson's face.

   "You're so beautiful, Jase," Dawson breathed in awe, feeling his heart fill, as he
touched Jason's perfect chest, feeling the large wine-brown nipples harden under
his palm.

   Jason threw his head back and bit back a sigh when Dawson's mouth closed
over his nipple. Another hand gently pinched and massaged his other nipple as
Dawson gently sucked on Jason's erect nipple. Jason couldn't bear the orgy of
sensations raking him from the insistent throbbing of his cock to the mouth
feasting on his nipple. As he unfastened his trousers, he pushed his chest
forward so that Dawson could suck harder. Now the other man's tongue was
prodding his nipple, licking it and playing with it, and Jason gasped when he
finally pushed his trousers down his hips.

   His cock jutted free, and he grasped it, using his thumb to smooth the clear
fluid droplets oozing from the slit on the head. "Deuce," he whispered softly.

   Dawson let his upper body fall back and looked at the cock rearing like a
mighty weapon from the thick bush at Jason's crotch. For a moment he felt a cold
wash of fear as he remembered their first fuck, but now, the look on Jason's face
was his benediction. Jason looked at him as if he was Jason's lodestone and the
most important reason for his life.

   Silly man, it should be the other way around.

   "I was a fucking idiot, Deuce, and I know I hurt you. I won't hurt you anymore, I
swear it. I will kill myself first before I hurt you," Jason started to say,
misinterpreting the look on Dawson's face.

   Dawson silenced the man with a kiss. He straddled Jason, and squatted, legs
as far apart as he could, over that thick, rigid cock standing stiff and poking at the
juncture of his thighs. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he pushed
experimentally down on it.

   Jason broke off the kiss and looked down as he felt the tight ring of muscles of
Dawson's anal entrance stretching to close over the tip of his cock. He growled,
steadying his throbbing cock with one hand and placing the other hand on
Dawson's hip, urging him to move down on that cock. He thrust upwards slowly,
not wishing to hurt Dawson.

   He lifted his hips and heard Dawson's low groan, and watched as another inch
speared up that tight anus.

   Dawson placed his palms wide on Jason's fast sweat-soaked chest, delighting
in the feel of the tight muscles under his palm. "I guess you're now my personal
stud service as well, huh?" he asked playfully, then gritting his teeth as he began
riding Jason, grinding his hips up and down slowly, punctuating his downward
buck with a gyrating grind that had Jason moaning approvingly.

   "I'm yours to command," Jason answered, his own hips bucking in rhythm with
Dawson's fucking. "All you have to do is ask, Deuce. Oh God, ride me harder.
Like that."

   Dawson gave a wild cry as Jason bucked up hard, ramming himself up to the
hilt.

   The other man smoothly turned them over, so that Jason was on top of
Dawson. Dawson lifted his legs and placed them around Jason's neck. "God,
you're a good fuck," Jason gasped, sweat pouring down his forehead as he
began pumping Dawson in earnest. "Marry me."

   Dawson could only gasp in reply, his hands feeling the tightly-knotted muscles
of Jason's back and buttocks as he moaned, his prostate getting the fucking of its
life as Jason's huge wide cock head banged at it hard again and again. The
heated friction was driving him wild -- oh God, Jason's cock packed him so well,
and he could feel every vein on Jason's thick cock shaft burning into the
muscular walls of his fast heating up anus. He could feel his insides give way,
melting their resistance to Jason's insistence fuck pumps -- he bucked his hips,
crying out wildly as his guardian's mouth now latched on his nipples, sucking
them one by one, biting them, even using his teeth.

   Jason was now breathing harshly, his cock was like a piston as it pounded its
fuck rhythm, driving them both to orgasm. Dawson let his hand fell to the floor,
then rubbed his stomach, feeling his own muscles clench taut in response to the
hard pounding he was receiving up his ass. He reached for his cock, wanting to
rub himself to the much-needed climax, but a growl from Jason stopped him.

   Jason didn't -- couldn't speak -- but his dark blue eyes warned Dawson that
soon he would want a piece of Dawson's cock as well. Dawson felt something in
his groin snap. Warmth flooded his insides, and he arched his back, his hand
reaching to feel the shaft of Jason's now slick and slippery cock pumping his ass.
He curved his fingers to encircle that pumping cock. Jason looked down, and his
eyes followed Dawson's hand as it left the cock and the latter's tongue licked at
the stains on those fingers. Jason bent forward, his own tongue snaking out to
lick at Dawson's fingers, tasting himself and Dawson. His tongue found
Dawson's, licking each other as well as those fingers, and they were kissing hard
when Jason snapped. He groaned heavily, shuddering, tasting Dawson's mouth
deeply, when his cock exploded, his juices gushing forth to drench Dawson's
insides.

   When Jason opened his eyes, he smiled almost shyly as he touched the cheek
of the man in his arms. "Marry me, Deuce," he said softly. "I won't stop you from
getting a life outside of me, and I won't stop you from trying to succeed. I swear
it, Deuce." His voice faltered. "Even if you won't marry me, can we still see each
other?" he said, again misreading Dawson's expression. "I'm sorry if I didn't
please you, but I'll be here always if you need -- "

   Dawson placed a finger on his lips, silencing the man. "I'm yours, Jase. Ever
since the beginning."

   Jason pressed his face into Dawson's hair and inhaled, trying to steady his
emotions. For the first time in a long while, he was at peace. This was Dawson in
his arms. "Go to sleep, love," he whispered, "I'll hold you until morning."