Date: Tue, 12 Sep 2000 19:35:18 +0800
From: Lady Poetess <egiggles@moose-mail.com>
Subject: The Gentlemen's Club: Frederick

THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Frederick

By and copyright Lady Poetess

Disclaimer
This story is entirely fictitious and bears no resemblance to anyone dead
or alive.


ONE

Frederick Prinze, Jr had never been surrounded by so much ass and hard
muscles before. If he had known a ballet house had this much flesh, hell,
he wouldn't have protested when his parents tried to send him to ballet
classes when he was eight.

   He was glad for his dark trousers that pretty much concealed his
half-hard cock. He lowered his dark shades and looked at a row of very well
muscled young men in tights and white top doing the barre. "Very nice," he
murmured, taking in the well-oiled movement of those fluid, hard muscles
under those fair skin. "I could use some of these guys myself."

   Telling himself to enroll in a ballet class ASAP after he had settled
this matter of Dougray Scott, he made his way through the practice
hall. Actually he felt pretty much out of his league here -- he had never
been in such a sissified environment of pansy ballet in his life. He was
more of a Porsche and Ferrari sort of guy, and the only tango he did was
the horizontal sort, preferably with one of these young hunks.

   Aware on curious eyes on his bright, garish Aloha shirt and baggy dark
pants, he scanned the room for the man he was sent her to look for. It was
almost five and already he was impatient to get home and prepare for a
date. If Dougray Scott would be so nice as to make himself seen, maybe
Freddie could get back to his long-neglected I-need-to-get-laid agenda.

   "Aha!" he said to himself, as was his habit after years of being an only
-- and often neglected -- latchkey son of a well-known pair of movie stars,
as soon as he spotted a man standing at where a nice ballerina had pointed
to. "Mr Scott?  Dougray Scott?"

   "No, that's not me," the man Freddie called to said with a good-natured
smile on his hand. He pointed up at the ladder he was holding. "Now that's
Doug."

   Freddie looked up. "Wow," he said aloud.

   Until today, he would still swear that was the sexiest butt he had ever
seen.  Encased in white tights that mould to every contour and curves,
those tight, well- rounded cheeks made Freddie's hands itched to touch
them. Indeed, those luscious, hard-looking muscular buns looked good enough
to eat.

   "I can't find those fucking tiaras," came the muffled sound of Doug's
voice.  "James, are you sure they are in there?"

   Doug lifted one well-muscled leg up one rung on the ladder, causing his
buttocks to clench in an enticing manner that made Freddie's mouth drop
open.  Freddie couldn't help himself, he walked around the ladder, and
sighed when he saw the front of Dougray Scott's lower body.

   He had seen danseurs in their tights in this hall, and had some naughty
thoughts about those bulges at their tights-encased crotches. But this!
Wow, this one took the grand prize -- Freddie could see the gentle curve of
the man's penis bulging over the round curve of his balls, all in one
handful -- a large handful -- of a package,

   Oh yes, Freddie decided he really ought to take up ballet classes. This
beat a visit to a nudist beach anytime.

   "What are you looking at?" the Scots-tinged voice cut through Freddie's
lust- hazed thoughts.

   Freddie finally looked above Dougray's belt and saw a stern but handsome
and chiseled face that belonged more to a regal king than a danseur. He
grinned his perfect Mr Cool Dude smile that had knocked most people off
their feet, and removed his dark Ray-ban shades.

   "Hi! I'm Frederick Prinze, and we spoke over the phone this morning?" he
started to say.

   "Oh yeah, you're supposed to be here an hour ago."

   "Traffic in New York," Freddie said simply.

   "Well, since you're late, I guess it's only fair you wait until I finish
finding these missing props for the next performance," Doug said, returning
to his searching in the top lockers. "Go on and do something. Meet me again
in an hour's time."

   "Hey, wait a minute --"

   "Mr Prinze," Dougray said, looking at Freddie and giving the man a
thunderous scowl. "You and Ethan Hawke need me, and I have set aside a
precious hour waiting for you in my office. You've wasted enough of my
time. An hour of your time won't fuck your weekend plans, which I'm sure is
your concern at the moment. Now get out of my way."

   Touché. Freddie gave that great ass one more look, then bit his lower
lip as he considered the man up the ladder. Even that James was smirking
insolently in glee at him, and he hated being made a fool in public.

   Well, Dougray Scott had just gotten himself a death wish. Before this
week was over, Freddie would have that man in his bed. Dougray Scott was
now officially a marked man.


"You know nothing about ballet, but you're writing one?" Dougray asked
incredulously.

   "Actually, I wouldn't exactly call myself the ballet writer. I know shit
about choreographing and other things ballet. What we're doing is changing
my new play into a ballet. I'm offering the male lead to you, as well as
that of a choreographer. It'll be perfect," Ethan said, grinning. "There'll
be death, tragedy, betrayal, and brains being splattered all over the
floor. Classic ballet stuff. Oh, and while the idea's mine, it's Freddie
here who would be producing it."

   Freddie sat back, devilishly amused at the flabbergasted look on Doug's
face.  Poor Doug, stuck in a cramped, messy office with two very people who
got off on making people uncomfortable and irritated. Freddie knew Ethan's
enthusiasm in this latest project was greatly due to the anticipation of
the conservative art critics' heart attacks than any aesthetic
pleasures. Aesthetic values came only secondary to pissing people off to
Ethan, and it was only good fortune to the art scene of New York that most
of what Ethan created for stage and art had aesthetic values.

   Freddie's motives were less noble. Unlike his parents or Ethan, the last
thing he would claim to be was an artist or even a patron of the arts. He
played some music on his guitar, but it wasn't his livelihood. He was a
dilettante who made/wasted his pocket money (in addition to his
inheritance) by investing in various projects around America and beyond. He
had a keen nose for money (one that he unfortunately didn't bother to use
to help him finish college) hence he was pretty much drowning in money. And
his every instinct told him that investing in Ethan's art company The
Brigadiers would be a wise move.

   Ethan had a wild, almost insane vision for his company, born out of a
need to piss people, boredom, and ennui, as well as for a genuine outlet
for Ethan to see his works brought to stage (everyone was terrified of
funding his work). Freddie wasn't confident of Ethan's business sense or
even the man's long-term commitment to The Brigadiers, but he had seen how
young, revolutionary artists had clamored to work under the banner of The
Brigadiers. Ethan's anything-goes policy excited them as it bestowed upon
them a license to create without fear of grant and sponsorship
withdrawals. Also, Ethan's bizarre, macabre humor and unlikely genius
struck a chord in them, and Freddie could see profits in the long run. He
supplied the lion's share of the money to start up The Brigadiers, and he
had used that opportunity to protect his investment by laying down rules
and business policies as well as taking over the PR machinery. Ethan and
his fellow eccentric members of the board only gladly relinquished control
of these irritating nuisances to Freddie and his appointed trustees.

   Hence, Freddie suddenly found himself with a job, and he wasn't still
sure if he liked that.

   Shrugging off his reverie, Freddie concentrated on what is at
hand. Dougray's skepticism -- the man was from an old school after all,
according to a friend who knew ballet -- and Ethan's ideas were probably
driving poor Doug into apoplexy.  Ethan, however, was a born showman, and
the man could talk the pants off the Pope if he put his mind to it. And
Ethan, challenged by Dougray's skepticism at his project, was being very,
very persuasive. He'd probably learned some emotional manipulation tactics
from his shrink boyfriend too, Freddie thought, hiding his grin behind his
hand on his chin.

   "Fine, I'll do your play," Dougray said finally, pushing his seat
behind. "You'd probably talk me to death if I don't agree."

   Ethan flashed his brilliant grin and punched the air. "You won't regret
this, Doug," he said. He pulled out a bottle of champagne from his
drawer. "We will put your name on the forefront of revolutionary ballet!"

   "A reputation I'd rather not have, thank you very much," Doug said
calmly. "You do know I'm doing this for the money, don't you?"

   "You do know I'm hiring you because you're cheap, don't you?" Ethan
replied with equal calmness.

   Freddie's brows lifted in pleasant surprise when Dougray chuckled and
accepted Ethan's right hand. So much for noble intentions to further the
cause of art.


That night, Ethan tapped on Freddie's office door. "Sorry I ruined your
Friday evening."

   Freddie looked up from his surfing of porn sites in his office. "No,
it's okay.  Chances are my used-to-be-date wouldn't give out anyway."

   "Hey, fresh black meat!" Ethan said, walking in to look closer over
Freddie's shoulder. "Well, I know big-dicked black guys are demeaning
stereotypes, and by drooling over these doctored pictures, we are reducing
a functional human being into nothing more than sex object. But oh what the
fuck, look at that cock!"

   Freddie tilted his head to look at the badly scanned, probably fake,
picture.  "Actually, I think it's a bit small." Compared to Doug's
package. That was, of course, if Doug didn't stuff his crotch with a roll
of towel like Freddie heard some danseurs did. Or was that just another
urban legend?

   Whatever. Freddie would be really disappointed if Doug did stuff his
crotch. "I do wonder where all the big ones have gone?"

   "I have no idea," Ethan answered. "I wouldn't exactly call Doc big and I
don't recall any of my boyfriends before Doc being impressive in size
department. And I have no inclination to go looking, I'm afraid."

   "A faithful Ethan. Now that's something," Freddie said, clicking the
mouse to change the picture to that of Leonardo di Caprio flashing his dick
around. "God, another small one."

   "Hey, Freddie, I'm serious about my relationship with Doc as well as
this Brigadiers," Ethan said, suddenly solemn. "I know I'm not a most
reliable asshole, but when it comes to The Brigadiers and Doc, I won't
screw up on them.  Why else you think I let you handle the money and
business aspects? I have no head for money and I know I will bungle up."

   "And I thought you respected my business sense," Freddie said in mock
injured tone.

   "Freddie, I like you, you're my buddy, but trust me, your business sense
is only second to my lack of one in being the reason of my appointing you a
seat in the Board. Hey, get back to that last picture. Now that's a big
one."

   "You know, Doug has a big one," Freddie said.

   "Really? I didn't care to look below the neck." Ethan grinned, placing
his hands on Freddie's shoulder. "Not that I really care, for the man is
too serious -- I bet he is cold fish in bed. You interested in shopping in
his store?"

   "You think he'll accept my credit?" Freddie asked.

   "That depends. You think he swings our way?"

   "There are ways to make a man swing over," Freddie answered. "But I hate
to expand the energy, especially as it always involve giving head to a
panicked straight guy. It gets boring and I always get locked jaw from all
that sucking and pacifying the whiny breeder."

   "Hey, you can always get him drunk first. Worked before for me."

   Freddie shook his head in bemusement and clicked on the mouse for the
next picture. "That's a big one," he agreed.

   Ethan looked thoughtfully at the picture on the monitor. "Trust me,
Freddie, it's a bloody cliché, but I'd rather have a nice medium-sized
cock that can fuck well than a large cock that would probably land me in
intensive care for a torn anus."

   "Thought you're strictly a top," Freddie murmured. "Or had Doc succeeded
where no one had?"

   "Well, I'm thirty-two. It's definitely time to diversify," Ethan said
cheerfully. "Next picture, please."


TWO


Doug saw the annoying asshole Freddie walking out of the café across the
school the same time as Doug walked out of the school doors.

   "What the hell do you want?" he asked curtly, looking out for a cab.

   "Well, you're in luck. There's space in my backseat. Want me to give you
a lift?"  Freddie said.

   Doug quickened his pace. "No thanks."

   Freddie only walked past him and made a showy whirl before turning to
stand before Doug, facing him with that insolent smirk of his. He held up a
large bouquet of black roses. "For you?" the man said.

   Doug had to admit Freddie dressed like an elegant gentleman, his height
allowing him to carry off the expensive white silk shirt and dark silken
pleated trousers like a man born to walk as royalty. And the man had a
cheeky charm about him that bestowed upon his normally handsome but
uninteresting face a distinguishing trait that could stick in any
observer's mind.

   Doug hated to admit it, but he had carried the image of Freddie's smile
and that cheeky glint in the man's brown eyes in his mind since their first
meet. Freddie was young, spoiled, and used to having his way or paying the
world to turn his way -- Doug knew these sort of people, and he now refused
to get involved with them. But Freddie… Marion, his colleague who read
all the society papers, had let Doug know that Freddie was known among his
circles as The Charming One.  He could see why.

   Freddie, standing here, with a bouquet of roses for Doug, made the
gesture one of the most romantic Doug had ever received. It wasn't only the
rarity of the roses he was offering, it was the gentle upward quirk of
those lips that was simultaneously daring Doug to accept the roses as well
as letting Doug know that Doug's refusal would break his heart. Or those
dark eyes that were at once defiant -- "Hey, screw me over, I'll still
survive" -- and forlorn -- "Please, I'm on my knees, say yes".

   "What game are you playing, Freddie?" Doug asked, moving aside to walk
around Freddie.

   The other man wouldn't let him, deftly moving to stand in front of Doug
again.  "Well, I want to make up for my boorish behavior on day one. Have
dinner with me and let me make you the happiest man on earth."

   "I have a feeling I'm set for some sort of juvenile and petty games of
yours.  What are you trying to do? Seduce me and discard me in some sort of
deluded need for vengeance? Give me a break." Doug saw a cab and flagged at
it with his hand.

   Freddie forcefully closed the cab door Doug was trying to open. He
pulled out a hundred dollar note into the cab and said, all the while
looking at Doug challengingly, "Here's a hundred bucks for you to drive
off, Mr Cab Driver."

   He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar notes.
Holding it up to Doug, he said, "I have enough to pay off ten more cabs
from driving you home. You're not in a hurry, I hope, since you seem to be
allergic to my car."

   "You're mad." Doug tampered the blossoming of a smile on his face. He
had to admit: Freddie's determination was flattering. "Why don't you just
go home, and find someone else to play with?"

   "Well, no one inspires me like you do, Doug. I hear love songs in my
head. It's like the West Side Story -- say your name in a whisper and it
sounds like a prayer, and say it loud and my world stops turning."

   "They shouldn't call you The Charming One. You're more of The Corny
One," Doug said, walking fast.

   Freddie caught up with him all the way. "Say yes, Doug, or I'll
embarrass us both by getting down on my knees and singing off-key a
horrible rendition of 'Nessun Dorma'."

   Doug lifted his hands in exasperation. "Fine, you can go out with
me. But not today, for I have to be at the Riverdance House by eight."

   "Fine, I'll go with you," Freddie said, pulling off his tie.


Dougray's feet tapped and glided on the wooden floor in rapid-fire staccato
stomps, never stopping even for a second as the man did a graceful
twirl. His rapidly clapping hands added to the rhythm of his feet, as the
man danced and twirled like a magician performing a spell of light.

   Freddie had long stopped breathing and he knew his mouth was wide open
in amazement, but he couldn't move to close it. The red sash around Doug's
waist was the only concession to color in his outfit of white billowing
shirt and tight dark tights.

   To the clashing merry violins and flutes and castanets the dancer turned
gracefully, his feet stomping the wooden floor in a rhythm of taps even as
he revolved around his female partner. Doug's stern face had long relaxed
into a smile as he took the woman and turned her around the floor.

   Freddie hated that woman in an irrational burst of envy. After all, she
was the one who brought out this elegance and music in the magnificent
dancer that was Dougray. As the drums started to pound and Dougray leapt
into the air, performing a double pirouette before landing in perfect
balance on his toes only to glide into another pirouette, the crowd went
wild in cheers and generous applause.

   For the first time, Freddie didn't question Ethan's insistence on hiring
this long- forgotten danseur who, at thirty-four, was long past a dancer's
short shelf life.  "But trust me, Freddie, I've seen him dance," Ethan had
said to Freddie then, and Freddie didn't listen. Now Freddie was perversely
glad that no one would see him eat his words right here and now.

   In a loud flourish of violins, Doug leapt into the air one last time,
and fell to his feet in a graceful bow to the appreciative audience. A sea
of people surrounded him and his partner, and Freddie soon lost sight of
them.

   Feeling alone and ignored, an unusual occurrence in his life, Freddie
ordered for another one of those strong lager drinks this old Irish-style
tavern served. This date wasn't turning out like he expected. Trust that
his first unbroken date in weeks had to end with his date abandoning
him. He looked at his reflection in the dark glass and shook his head
ruefully.


"Sorry to leave you here for so long. I just can't get away from the
crowd."  Dougray sat opposite Freddie at the table some twenty minutes
later, still in his loose shirt and tights. "God, I need a drink."

   "Oh, don't mind me. Go and have fun with your adoring fans," Freddie
said.

   The music started again and this time another couple took to the floor.

   "You don't really like this sort of thing," Doug said.

   "Truthfully, this is the first time I'm seeing a dance like this. It's
nice." Freddie raised his hands in a placating gesture when Doug gave him
an ugly look. "Okay, you were great. Amazing. Happy now?"

   "Yeah. Wanna dance with me?"

   Freddie actually recoiled. "No! Besides, us dancing? These folks may not
look upon that kindly. And I can't dance."

   "Well, these folks know I'm as queer as folk. Relax, among dancers,
everyone's mostly bisexual. They'll be okay with you and me. Come on." Doug
stood up and offered his hand. "Take my hand, Freddie."

   "No!" Freddie said, eyeing the hand in terrified askance. "I don't
dance. I never -- aiyyyyyi!"

   The other man pulled him to his feet roughly. Freddie found himself
clasped to Doug's chest. He placed his palms on Doug's chest and tried to
break free.

   "Don't worry, I've cleaned up my sweat and stuff, so feel free to put
your hands anywhere on my body,' Doug said, his eyes twinkling
mischievously.

   "If I'm not so terrified I'll take up on that," Freddie hissed, even as
blood surged into his cock at Doug's words. He couldn't think too, not when
he could smell the sweat and virile masculinity of Doug, and definitely not
when the muscular thighs and that thick bulge at the crotch of the other
man was pressing against him in an intimate embrace.

   "I haven't danced since I was eight," Freddie said. That fiasco resulted
in his refusal to even move his feet to music.

   Doug clapped and pushed Freddie away. "Come on, dance. Follow my steps."

   Freddie swallowed, aware that eyes were on him. To the claps and
clatters of castanets, Doug's feet moved in a mind-boggling dexterity that
was as beautiful to watch as well as impossible to follow. Freddie couldn't
move, however, not when cold fear held him frozen in petrifaction.

   "Freddie," Doug said, his voice promising retribution, when he realized
the other man wasn't moving.

   "Fine," Freddie said, his patrician arrogance slowly breaking down the
icy fear in his heart. He ripped off his tie and threw it carelessly across
the room. Next to sail across the room was his coat. To wolf-whistles and
teasing laughter, Freddie tapped his feet hesitantly on the floor.

   Doug sailed across the floor to the music to stand behind Freddie. "Like
this," he said.

   Freddie lost all rational thoughts when Doug placed his hands on
Freddie's thighs. "Now move," the man whispered into his ear, his breath
warm on Freddie's ear and nape, those hands giving Freddie's hips a push.

   It was too intimate -- Doug was too close. Freddie could feel the man's
heat burning his back, and he couldn't help throwing his head back to rest
against Doug's shoulder. "Feel the music, Freddie," Doug said, breathing
hard from his dancing.

   Freddie moved. He let Doug guide his hips as he danced. Awkward at
first, he soon fell into rhythm. "Yeah," Doug cried, when Freddie started
to get the rhythm.  "There's no actual steps, Freddie, just you moving the
way the music moves you."

   With Doug's warmth and strength surrounding him, Freddie felt his fear
melt in the cheers of the crowd. He soon forgot the world around him, and
the world faded into nothing but Doug holding him, making him
laugh. Freddie gave a loud laugh -- hell, he was actually dancing!


He was still laughing when he staggered into the men's room much
later. "God, if my father sees me dancing, he would flip," he said,
splashing cold water on his face.

   Doug stepped before a urinal. "You surprise me, really. You were really
good on the floor tonight."

   His blood still singing from the exhilaration of the dance, Freddie
listened to the sound of Doug's piss stream hitting the urinal bowl. He
looked in the mirror at the sight of the man's back facing him. His hand
reached to touch the reflection of the man's taut, shapely buttocks, and
Freddie's blood started to boil in a very different sort of song.

   He looked at the door thoughtfully, and silently reached to jam it
shut. He was unfastening his trousers when Doug looked around and asked,
"What the hell are you doing?"

   Freddie didn't answer. He just walked up to the man and calmly reached
around to close his hands around the other man's cock.

   Warm urine splashed on his hands. "What the fuck are you doing, let go
of my cock," Doug cried, but Freddie only pushed the man against the
wall. "Relax, Doug," he said, his voice low in his lust as he slowly
caressed the fast swelling cock in his urine-stained fingers. "Let me pay
you back for this wonderful evening you gave me," he whispered, his other
hand now rubbing and clenching into the rock hard buns.

   "No," Doug whispered, but Freddie noticed the man didn't fight him.

   "Press the flush button," Freddie said. Doug complied, and Freddie let
the cool water wash over his stained fingers. "God, you're so
beautiful. I've wanted you ever since I first saw you."

   Doug only threw his head back against Freddie's chest and closed his
eyes to the sensation of the other man's slow playing with his
cock. "You're as big as I thought," Freddie whispered, his hands pressing
gently into the hard, throbbing shaft, massaging the thick length slowly,
exerting just enough pressure to make Doug shudder in delight. "In fact,
you've surpassed my expectations."

   "I'm about to come," Doug moaned, bending over to hold the wall for
support.

   Abruptly Freddie stepped back, releasing his hold on Doug's cock.

   "Fuck, what did you do that for?" Doug yelled. "I'm so fucking close."

   Freddie leaned against the wall and unbuttoned his shirt
impatiently. Pulling it off his shoulders, he told the man, "If you need to
come, you better come up my ass."

   Doug pulled off his shirt, revealing a well-muscled chest, and pushed
his tights down below his balls. "You want a fuck, you'll get a fuck," he
said, taking three large strides that sent his cock to push against
Freddie's spread thighs, at the very center of the pulsing ring of muscles
that guarded the man's quivering asshole. Without preliminaries, Doug
stepped closer, sending an inch of his cock stretching up Freddie's
anus. Freddie gave a choked cry of pain and gratification, his nails
digging into Doug's shoulders.

   Doug gritted his teeth, lost in the sensation of blood seeping down his
back even as the tight, hot furnace of Freddie's anus closed over his cock
like a velvet glove. The well-educated ass convulsed around his cock as it
tried desperately to adjust to Doug's size. Its thick, smooth, slippery,
and muscular walls clamping and caressing every inch of that thickly-veined
penis in an iron grip so hot and tight that Doug felt as if that anus was
sucking out the very juices from his balls.  He gave a cry of delight when
the heated flesh gave way at last, and he was in, up Freddie so deep that
he could feel his pubic hair pressing into Freddie's anal ring.

   He placed his hand on the firm muscles on Freddie's stomach, and felt
the man's muscles clench in pain. Freddie's hands were now clutching
painfully at Doug's buttocks, the nails pressing into the sensitive cleft.

   "Fuck… me!" Freddie said in a hiss of exhalation of his breath.

   Dougray nodded, panting as he steadied Freddie on the sink. Then he
began screwing the man in earnest. His cock slowly withdrew from that ass
that only clenched him harder, not wanting to yield, until only his cock
crown was embedded in that silky velvet anus. Then he rammed his cock back
in, hilt-deep, hard. His pubic arch smashed into Freddie's pelvic bone,
causing Freddie to throw his head back and cried out. Dougray repeated his
fucking, his mouth closing over Freddie's luscious, large nipples, sucking
on them one by one, as his smoothly thrusting hips drove the other man
slowly but surely out of his mind.

   With each plunge of Doug's cock up his ass, Freddie felt himself give,
until finally Doug's cock head touched a part so deep up in his anus, so
deep that no one else had ever touched him there before, and he felt
himself splinter. He screamed, Doug's mouth quickly covering him to muffle
the scream, as a million burning sensation erupted from the bottom of his
spine, surging up all his nerves until he convulsed.  His testicles
boiling, he reached down for his own cock. One touch was all it took,
sending his semen gushing forth to bathe Doug's chest and his stomach in
his climax.

   Doug grinned at Freddie's insensate climax. He ground his hips to a
halt, letting the other man catch his breath and regain his senses. "God,"
Freddie breathed at last. "That was amazing." The man closed his eyes when
he felt Doug's hard cock still burning his insides. "Oh God, not again," he
whimpered.

   Shaking his head in a wry grin, unable to speak himself, Doug lifted his
hips slightly, so that his cock now could brush against Freddie's prostate
more acutely with each thrust, and drove his cock home. Freddie opened his
mouth to plead for mercy. Doug had no mercy, however, pumping his cock
savagely up Freddie's ravaged ass, stopping only for a brief few seconds
when his juices gushed forth in an orgasm that ravaged him into a
pleasurable groan that almost drove him mad. His cock only still slightly
softened, he started fucking Freddie again even before he spilled the last
drop of his semen up that voracious ass.


"More, please," Freddie begged, still shuddering from his climax as he
spread his thighs ever wider. Doug gave a loud sigh, arching his back and
thrusting his cock one last time deep up Freddie as the last of his current
ejaculation spurted forth.

   "I don't think I have the energy for yet another round," Doug said in
broken breath as he rolled off Freddie to fall heavily on his back on the
bed. "I can't keep up with you."

   "Well, you've kept up well for one week," Freddie said, turning over to
cuddle up to Doug. "I'm sure you can keep this horse dick hard for a while
longer," he said, reaching down to cup the wet cock that even now jumped
weakly to life in his hands.

   Doug pushed Freddie's hand away gently. He gave one look at the man
whose ass he had provided stud service to so well for the past week, and
turned his head away, not wanting Freddie to see the pain in his eyes. It
was becoming harder to maintain a calm façade when Freddie meet him in
broad daylight in the daily auditions and rehearsals, because he was sure
everyone could see in Doug's eyes that he was wearing his heart for all to
see.

   He lit a cigarette and offered one to Freddie. He might as well face it
-- he was addicted to this man. Freddie was charming, slick, sophisticated,
and a damned good lay. It also irked Doug because Freddie had no problem
maintaining a professional distance during the day. One wouldn't suspect
that Freddie would go down on his knees whenever Doug wanted a blowjob, or
how the man would beg for Doug's cock up his arse.

   It was a game for Freddie, he knew. Doug could only hope that Freddie
wouldn't have gotten too deep under his skin when the man dumped Doug, if
it wasn't too late already.



THREE

"I love dancing," Doug told Freddie one night. "It's all I ever wanted to
do. I wanted to be a star."

   "So why didn't you?" Freddie asked, lying on Doug's body with his arms
folded under his chin on Doug's chest.

   Doug wondered why he was telling Freddie this, but he couldn't stop
himself even if he wanted to. When Freddie looked at him this way, as if
every word Doug said mattered, even if Freddie was pretending to be sincere
Doug couldn't help but to bite the bait. "Well, at eighteen I was admitted
to the American Ballet Academy on a scholarship. I was like nobody they had
seen before." Doug sighed. "And I was good, so good that I made whoever see
me onstage fall in love with me. Before long I was fucking the Head as well
as his wife and daughter, and I was also a ballet-loving rich old man's
kept boy. The power was intoxicating. Me, a poor shopkeeper's son from
Aberdeen, wanted by so many people."

   Freddie reached up and tweaked Doug's nose playfully. "You know, if
there's a tragic ending to this, I don't want to hear it."

   "Well, it had to happen that the daughter believed herself to be in love
with me, and when I cheated on her with her best friend, she swallowed a
whole bottle of sleeping pills." Doug was surprised at the calm in his
voice. "In my thoughtlessness I destroyed three people's lives."

   "So you left the Academy and decided to be a small-time, anonymous
ballet teacher instead." Freddie ran his fingers along Doug's curls. "So,
why are you performing in Ethan's travesty of a ballet?"

   "Well, I need the money." Doug caught Freddie's hand and kissed the
forehand. "And Ethan can be so persuasive."

   Freddie looked at Doug inscrutably for a moment, then rolled off the
man.  "Well, Doug, it's a good story, but the ending needs a rewrite."

   "What do you have in mind?" Doug asked, suddenly unable to breathe as a
rush of unfamiliar warmth came over his senses.

   "Well, I always think," Freddie said, his hand moving down the length of
Doug's body, his touch light over the hard muscles tensed under his hand,
until his fingers closed over the man's fast filling cock. "I always think
every story needs a happy ending. So, how about you meeting this nice,
wonderful, and charming me who thinks the both of us can work something out
of what we have."

   Doug grinned as Freddie straddled him. As Freddie's anus parted, letting
Doug's cock sink into warm, velvet heat, Doug chuckled. "You think so?"

   "I have no idea, to be honest," Freddie said, closing his eyes as the
wonderful sensation of being filled rushed over his senses. "But I'm
willing to give it a try."

   "Mind if I know why me?" Doug couldn't help asking, his old insecurities
once dormant now raging their ugly head. Freddie was a good lay, but hell
if Doug would offer his heart and body if all the man wanted was sex. He
was a whore once, and he didn't like it.

   "Well," Freddie said, sighing as they began moving their hips together,
driving that thick, pulsing cock deeper up his ass. God, this man was
good. "You're hung, you got a great ass, and best of all, I have this
feeling that we are going to get along great."

   It wasn't much, but Doug liked what he heard. He sat up and kissed
Freddie hard, bruising the man's lips. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll have
you."


FOUR

Ethan was still laughing over the reviews of his play two days after it
opened.

   "Look at this! Stuffy-assed Connor calls me a travesty of culture," he
hooted.  "I'm flattered to be called the herald of the death of the
ballet."

   Matthew Broderick, a calm where his partner was a tempest, looked at the
reviews with his usual clarity. "I'm sorry to say this, Ethan, but I think
they actually love your work," he said after reading the Connor piece.

   "Can't be," Ethan declared. "These critics hate me,' he said in perverse
delight.

   "Well, Connor calls you a travesty, but I really believe it's a
compliment. See?"  Matt pointed at the sentence. "He says, 'Ethan Hawke,
the schizophrenic and perverse distortionist and poster boy for Kafka-esque
imageries, had conjured yet another disturbing travesty of an art, this
time turning his razor-sharp claws into the ballet culture.' I think he
really likes you. The scene where the ballerina performed pirouettes upon
pirouettes until her head fell off really charmed him."  He perused the
other reviews in other journals and newspapers. All pretty much said the
same thing with little minor variations -- Ethan's supposedly travesty of a
ballet really won them over.

   Ethan looked horrified. "Connor is the most conservative critic in New
York," he said when he managed to shake off his shock. "He can't like me,
much less love me!"

   Matt smiled to himself. "Sorry, Ethan, you're becoming mainstream."

   "No!" Ethan cried. "Give me that," he said, grabbing for the papers.

   At that moment, the phone rang. "Matthew Broderick," Matt said into the
phone.  "Oh hi Freddie. Ethan's busy denying that critics are starting to
like him. Okay, I'll tell him." He called out to Ethan who had fled into
the bedroom, "Hi Eth, your play is selling like hot cakes so Freddie and
your colleagues have decided to extend the run." Matthew winced when he
heard something shatter in the room. "Don't throw any of my things, Eth,"
he called, before returning to the phone. "Ethan's definitely in denial."

   At that moment, Ethan's scowling face appeared from the bedroom
door. "Tell Freddie I'm blaming that dancer of his for this
nightmare. Every half-assed critic can't rave enough about Doug's dancing
and it's ruining my credibility! Freddie should know better than to listen
to me in the first place," he said. "That Doug is dragging my ass right
into the popular limelight. God, I feel as if I'm selling out already!"

   "Congrats on your newfound sense of commitment," Matt told
Freddie. "Good luck with Doug. I saw him dance, and I have to agree with
you. Finest piece of ass I've ever seen, you lucky bastard." Matt shook his
head when he heard something heavy crash against the wall. "Look, Freddie,
I have to go see to Ethan. See you soon?"

   Matt hanged up and walked to the bedroom. He leaned against the door and
crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Ethan's briefcase
thrown open, its contents scattered all over the floor, and the shattered
glass ashtray at a corner of the room.

   "I didn't break anything of yours," Ethan said sheepishly when he saw
Matt's face. "Will you punish me?" he asked hopefully.

   Matt calmly loosened his cuffs as he walked into the room and shut the
door behind him.