Date: Sat, 21 May 94 23:36:57 +0800
From: Lady Poetess <egiggles@moose-mail.com>
Subject: The Gentlemen's Club: Ralph

THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Ralph

By and copyright Lady Poetess
This work is strictly fictitious and any resemblance to anyone dead or life
is definitely coincidental.


ONE

Ralph Fiennes was cool and debonair. He was, after all, the third son of one of
the last few true blue-blooded aristocrats of England. Problems might rain on
Ralph but he never seemed ever perturbed even slightly by them. He leaned
against the wall, gloriously handsome in his chiseled and aristocratic face and
looking like temptation incarnate in proper black tux. He was all in black, with
only a glimpse of white from his shirt under the suit to break the monotony.

   Griffin Bracket stared at the photograph and heard his deep intake of breath.
His heart hurt at the sight of such beauty. Ralph's red bow tie was careless slung
across his broad left shoulder, giving him an air of dishevelment.

   And Ralph was looking at the camera in disinterest, as if he knew a lustful
audience was watching him, and he couldn't care less.

   Griff perused the other photos disinterestedly. All were of friends of John, all
gay men that good-naturedly agreed to lend their faces to John's latest project.
Brian, in shorts and T-shirt catching a basketball, his shirt lifted to expose a brief
glimpse of flat stomach; Mike grinning like a gleaming Ken doll to the camera;
Ethan biting his thumb and looking out of camera's range -- all men made even
more beautiful by John's stark and elegant photography. There was Seth, shy yet
vivacious, in a clown suit and sitting on a box in a fun house, looking at the
camera and smiling enigmatically. And of course, the two best friends Mikey and
Ryan laughing and jostling each other as they walked out of a club.

   John made simplicity sexy. Yet Griff's eyes kept darting back to that photo of
Ralph.

   He had never met Ralph. No one seemed to know him very well. Ethan, a
playwright, has told Griff that Ralph was a very rich son of a British titled lord, and
hence had the luxury to hide away and write as a life. Griff pushed aside a photo
of Ronan sitting at a park bench, looking at Stephen who walked past, absently
noting that Ronan looked indeed like a man in love, and looked at John.

   "I haven't met Ralph before."

   John wasn't an unobservant man. "Join the club. When I first saw Ralph I too
fell madly in lust. Looking at him made my heart hurt. Still do sometimes." John
smiled at Griff. "Don't tell Mikey that, okay?" he said, referring to his live-in lover.
"Look at that smug bastard," he said, poking his second finger at Ralph's face.
"He never gives anyone time of day, indulging people and himself at his own
whim and fancy. He's a heartbreaker."

   "He broke your heart," Griff murmured.

   John laughed almost bitterly. "I wasn't given any time of the day by him, much
less the luxury of having my heart broken by him. He loves beauty, and he has
no time for a plain man like me." John said the last statement in an as-a-matter-
of-fact tone. Looking at Griff's simple handsome face, he smiled. "Don't go there
Griff. Don't commit emotional suicide."

   "Just asking," Griffin murmured, still looking at the photo.

   "Just be aware that you're not the first to look at him and feel that way. I doubt
you'll be the last." John hesitated -- that photo was the best of the series he had
done on Ralph. He also knew the pain of doomed lust. "Keep this photo Griff," he
said gently.

   Griff smiled then, a brilliant flash of white teeth and genuine gratitude. That was
the magic that was Griffin -- he was classically handsome yet he was so earnest
and transparent in his desires and wishes. He was a simple, linear man who lived
no further than today. "Thanks John," he said, pocketing the photo.

   John watched Griffin walked out of the studio, another good-looking man who
had forgotten him after he had given the man what the man wanted. He told
himself that he was immune to beauty. But his heart hurt each time he saw
beautiful men and women around him, always aware that he was too plain to
even warrant a second glance from them. Or a thought after they were done with
him.

   Until Mikey. Old habits, however, died a slow death. Maybe in a hundred years
he would finally stop feeling the hurt.

   He saw the young man walked in, casually unzipping his leather jacket. His
heart, hurting before, now broke. "Mikey, tell me again why you stay this long
with me?" he asked softly, taking Mikey's left hand in his right.

   "Because you're cool," Mikey said, falling into John's arms. "And because I love
you."

   "I'll keep you a little longer," John said, the pain in his heart forgotten. He had
Mikey -- nothing else mattered.

   He hoped Griff would learn fast that Ralph couldn't feel anything for anyone but
himself. He hated to see beauty broken into pieces. Besides, he liked that man a
lot.



TWO

The man bent over his keyboards, barely looking at the monitor as his fingers
flew, forming words in barely coherent speed. Ralph Fiennes had lost his writer's
block. He was inspired, and he couldn't stop the words from pouring out of him.

   I'm lonely, he typed. Saved me before I lose myself.

   Today I saw a man who taught me the meaning of desire. A man of tall stature
and a smile that could melt the sun in its warmth. I am, upon laying eyes on him,
exceedingly jealous of the very space he occupied. I want to be the very air he
breathes, and I want to be one he breathes upon, he continued.

   He heard Griffin stir in the bed behind him and felt a delicious shiver surge up
his naked spine, feeling the goose bumps of anticipation on his skin. Then Griffin
was behind him -- so close, the man's body heat burned Ralph. When Griff's
large, rough hands touched his shoulders, naked flesh searing white heat on
naked flesh, Ralph threw his head back and moaned, eyes closed.

   He spread his legs, feeling Griffin's touch warming every inch of his body. His
balls filled the juncture of his thighs even as his cock filled, standing strong and
proud in abject worship of the man touching him.

   They had met each other ten minutes into the party last night, and Ethan had
barely introduced Griffin to Ralph when Ralph had excused himself. He was
shaken, in truth, at the way his heart burst into flames of desire when he first saw
Griffin. The shorter man -- six feet, Ralph guessed, to his six feet three -- was
handsome in a pretty model way, but it was the man's brilliant smile that blinded
Ralph. That, and the sheer predatory gleam in Griffin's eyes when the man
looked at him.

   Unnerved, Ralph had fled for the safety of Brendan's library. He knew Griffin
was pursuing, for he was somehow aware of every bristling of hair on his skin,
the way heat flushed his face the moment Griffin was near. Ridiculous -- it was as
if they were both animals in heat, which was impossible.

   Griffin climbed the stairs, ten steps behind Ralph. Ralph felt foolish running
away from this man, who couldn't be older than twenty-six at most to his thirty-
four, but he quickened his pace. Thrill, terror, fear, arousal... he couldn't
distinguish his own feelings anymore.

   "No," he said to himself when he found himself on a deserted corridor. Fuck
Brendan, why couldn't he have a smaller mansion? He couldn't hear the guests
anymore. He could hear the steady footsteps; however, the tap of sturdy leather
soles on polished marble floor.

   Griffin walked slowly, step by step, grinning almost demonically as he calmly
loosened his tie with his right hand. The slow tug and unloosening of the
elegantly knotted fabric terrified Ralph, who saw the promise in the graceful
sweep of that hand.

   He began to run, not caring where he was going. He only knew he had to seek
safety to think and reconsider this mad lust.

   And he heard Griffin giving chase.

   "Stay away," he cried in genuine fear.

   He never felt the impact of falling when Griffin crashed onto him.

   He was aware, however, of Griffin's chest and groin pressing on the length of
his back. He breathed softly, letting the scent of Griffin's cologne overwhelm him
like a drugged haze. "No," he started again, trying to shake Griffin off. He hated
this helplessness and loss of his control.

   "No?" Griffin murmured, a soft tenor of promise in his voice.

   Both of them were aware of Griffin's throbbing erection pressing into the
juncture of Ralph's thighs.

   "Please, don't do this," Ralph pleaded.

   Griffin snarled and hooked his fingers into Ralph's collar. And ripped.

   Ralph leapt up then, throwing Griffin off. There was a loud tear as his shirt and
coat gave way. He couldn't make more than three paces however when Griffin's
hands grabbed his feet, tripping him. Ralph fell heavily on his back even as
Griffin pounced.

   Rough hands mauled his cock through his trousers, then Ralph screamed, his
cries choked by a rough hand closing over his mouth. That thick, very thick shaft
that plunged hard up his anus, tearing him painfully, drove him to arch his body
up in agony. This allowed Griffin to push him up against the wall, lifting Ralph's
legs to circle his waist. Then he withdrew an inch, then rammed up another four.
Ralph clawed at his back, pleading, screaming, begging for mercy, but Griffin
only rammed his mouth over Ralph's in a bruising kiss.

   His hips never stopped its brutal pumping, not even when thin warm trails of
blood began seeping from Ralph's anus down his shaft to pool at his pubic hair
and seep down his balls. He was aware, however, that Ralph had stopped
fighting, and those hands were now biting into his tight rounded buttocks
painfully, urging him on even as their tongues now entwined and writhe in
sinuous mating dance. The hall echoed with the sound of their flesh slapping
flesh.

   Then Ralph gave a keening cry, throwing his head into Griffin's right shoulder.
Griffin felt the man's teeth sinking into his flesh, the pain, and the blood. Ralph
was shuddering in jerky spasms, his throbbing cock ejaculating its thick juices to
splash on their chests, at Griffin's stomach. The pain and the contraction of
Ralph's anus on his rapidly swelling cock drove him over the edge.

   He shouted, maybe screamed, pressing Ralph heavily against the wall in one
hard thrust. His semen erupted in powerful geysers, pouring heavily up Ralph's
anus in his climax. His buttocks clenched tight as his hips bucked in short brief
thrust with each ejaculation.

   Ralph shivered in excitement at the recall of last night's furious rape at Griffin's
hands. And Griffin had taken him again and again, painfully brutal each time,
later when they escaped the party through a window to return to Ralph's place.

   Now, however, Griffin was gentle, slowly kissing the bruises on Ralph's
shoulders and arms.

   Then he was pushed up from his chair, and up the table. Ralph found himself
on his arms and knees. He looked down, at the sight of his cock sticking out
towards him, and almost ejaculated right then at the sight of Griffin sitting on the
chair, eyes looking right at Ralph's semen-stained anus.

   Then -- oh yes -- Griffin's tongue slowly lapped at the circular pucker of Ralph's
anus. The sensitive skin protested and reveled at the rough texture of Griffin's
tongue running and prodding at it and Ralph bit back a cry of delicious pleasure.
He spread his legs further, lowering his buttocks so that he was more at level
with Griffin's slurping mouth. Oh God, now that mouth was sucking and lapping
at Ralph's asshole, licking and slurping at Griffin's own semen mingled with
Ralph's own anal juices. He looked down, at the arousing sight of Griffin's lightly
bearded chin moving hungrily. He was moaning now, and he knew Griffin was
equally frenzied. The latter now was squeezing Ralph's hips with his hands as he
stood up, pressing his face deeper between Ralph's buttocks, licking and sucking
and eating at Ralph.

   The slick, shiny cock crown of Griffin stood towards the man's navel; and Ralph
looked at it hungrily. He could still see the shiny coat of semen and ass juices
along the shaft and coating that beautiful glan. But first -- "Oh God have mercy!"
Ralph gasped when that clever tongue hit a sensitive spot that send hot flames of
pleasure up his spine -- first, oh hell, what was the first thing?

   No matter. Griffin now was straddling the table, and now he was slowly pushing
that beautiful and thick fuck stick up Ralph's welcoming asshole. Ralph shut his
eyes and placed his forehead at the table, in ecstasy even as they began
thrusting towards ecstasy.



THREE

"I don't even know who you are," Ralph murmured, turning his head to look at the
head buried in his neck. He stretched his body on the sweat-stained sheets,
letting out a sigh of pleasure as his muscles rippled under Griffin's hands that
were now roaming every inch of bared skin. Every slow slick of Griffin's callused
finger on his pale skin sent flickers of awareness through every sizzling inch of
his soul, making him never more aware of their sex and the anticipated climax at
the moment.

   When Griffin's right hang slipped between Ralph's thighs, Ralph surrendered,
biting back a sigh when Griffin's two fingers penetrated his now sore and ravaged
anus. When that hand touched Ralph's lips, Ralph snaked his tongue out, licking
those fingers of the slippery moisture coating them.

   "I can be who you want me to be," Griffin murmured.

   "Fine, remain a mystery," Ralph said, closing his eyes when Griffin slowly
licked and bit into his shoulder blade. "Just touch me." Hold me, tight, he wanted
to say. Drive away the loneliness.


People tended to say I was a fool. I was beautiful, they said, Ralph continued
typing, and I didn't deserve this beauty if I was lonely. Since when was beauty
intimate with loneliness?

   I am lonely, I really am. I have had many lovers when I was younger, taking
and discarding them in my vain search for perfection. I trampled on hearts,
breaking them because I can. Perhaps now I am paying penance for these
broken hearts, Ralph continued typing. Not a day passes without me feeling this
cavernous hollow in my soul.

   I want color. I want magic. I want to stand at the rooftop of the Empire State
Building and scatter leaves in the wind. And God help me, I want to jump. But not
when I am now in his arms. I know not why, but I feel safe. He is my anchor, my
soul.

   "Hey!" Ralph said, startled, when Griffin snatched the pile of printed papers by
his side.

   "I made you feel this way?" he asked.

   Embarrassed, Ralph gave a vehement denial.

   Griffin shrugged and tossed the papers carelessly up in the air. An act of
blasphemy to Ralph, who held the written word sacred, and he started to utter a
sharp retort. But he paused, lost, as he saw, in slow entranced enthrallment, the
papers danced in the air, falling like autumn leaves around the very naked, very
aroused Griffin.

   "At least you're writing again. I guess I'm good for your writer's block. I don't
think how you can sell this though," Griffin said, sitting at the table beside Ralph.
"Then again, I don't read much, so what the fuck do I know?"

   "Reading does not imply intelligence and vice versa," Ralph murmured. "A
reader is merely a man who knows how to seek color where it is absent in his
life. A man of imagination and of joy in living."

   "You love writing and reading," Griffin stated.

   "I do." These activities never hurt, they gave him far more happiness than any
other thing in this world. "Of course, I'm lucky. I'm fucking rich enough so I can
devote my life writing."

   "Unlike me who dropped out of high school," Griffin murmured.

   "Don't feel bad," Ralph murmured back.

   "I always have a crush on the pretty nerds in my school, did I tell you that?"
Griffin said, rubbing his freshly shaved chin. "And you are the type of guys that I
wanted to fuck all my days in high school. Funny huh, Ralph? Others wanted to
fuck the jock, I was the jock who wanted to fuck the nerds."

   "I bet the nerds loved you," Ralph said.

   "Oh yes they did. And their teachers," Griffin said, smiling as he pulled Ralph
into his arms. "But I love them all, because they are intelligent. I love an
intelligent man."

   "You would love me then," Ralph said before he could stop himself.

   Silence. Then Griffin gave a clear, merry laugh. "Maybe," he said in between
laughter. "If you're lucky, maybe."



Griffin loved to be around intelligence. Ralph realized later how much that was
true -- Griffin was never happier when Ralph brought him to his critique circle.
Griffin sat in the corner, listening in a rapturous expression at Ralph and his
writing circle exchanged and debated plot lines and characterizations. He read
the books in Ralph's untidy pile, although he confessed that he didn't understand
half of anything he'd read.

   Griffin craved knowledge but for some reason, he couldn't absorb it.

   And Ralph found his presence gratifying. He didn't care if Griffin disappeared
from ten in the morning to six in the evening. Griff always turned up at seven in
fresh clothes and scent, and by eight Ralph would be at his knees, legs wide
upon for Griffin's butt fucking. And when they were temporarily sated, Ralph
would write. He would write stories he would never publish, personal
reminiscences, as well as a tight crime thriller that he knew without vanity that
would be another bestseller.

   It was at chapter fifteen, three weeks after Griff walked into his life, that he
realized that he hadn't felt any melancholic loneliness and meaninglessness of
this whole life of his.

   He might be falling in love with this man whom he knew not a thing about. And
it terrified him.


FOUR

"You better not come here tomorrow," Ralph told him the next night.

   Griff paused in the act of unbuckling his belt. He was about to strip for a shower
before his nightly fucking of Ralph. "Why?" he asked.

   "My lover Victor would be returning from his trip to London," Ralph said
honestly. "I'm sorry, I never knew how I would tell you until now."

   "Victor? Your lover?" Griff asked, looking as if he had just been stabbed.

   "He and I have been together for six years. We are planning to get married this
September," Ralph said quietly.

   "Well. Okay," Griff said nonchalantly. "A goodbye fuck then?"

   Ralph wasn't fooled -- not when Griff's voice now lacked the good cheer always
present, not when the man's hands trembled when he slowly, tenderly touched
and kissed Ralph's skin, not when his tears fell slowly on Ralph's back like the
purest of emotions even as the man boned him.

   Ralph felt his own tears running down his cheeks, but fuck if he knew why.


"Mr Victor Garber?" the smiling young man said. "I'm Griffin Brackett. I'm your
driver."

   Victor took in the man's well-honed physique underneath the simple sports shirt
and jeans and smiled. "Thanks."

   Griffin grinned wider, opening the door for the man.


I know he loves me. I do not know why, Ralph typed. But I am blessed, I feel,
because he loves me. Poor fool. I will break his heart. I always do.


"I fucked Ralph," Griffin said. "I fucked him six ways to Sunday and you really
don't mind?"

   "Ralph and I have an understanding," Victor said. "When we are away, we are
free to date and see anyone we choose. Why don't you fuck him and let me
watch?"

   Griffin stopped the car. He turned around and looked at Victor, his pleasant
eyes now cold with ice. "I love him, you know. When he told me about you, I felt
as if my heart was ripped out of my chest and squeezed dry. He threw me out for
you. Do you know how that make me feel?"

   Victor was now slowly panicking, especially when he realized the passenger
doors had locks that could only be opened by the driver.

   Griffin reached for the Swiss knife in his pocket.

   Victor gave a whimper of fear, but there was no place to run.


He said he would do anything for me, Ralph typed. I believed him.


"Flowers for Mr Fiennes," Griffin said, flashing pearly white teeth in a grin of pure
roguishness.

   "Griff, please, not today," Ralph said through the door.

   "Victor's trip was delayed. Why can't we just keep fucking a few days more?"
Griff asked, knocking on the door again. "Ralph, come on, let me in. I can make
you forget the loneliness."

   Ralph cursed himself for letting slip of his feelings. Or maybe Griff deduced it.
He could still hear John tell him, "Griffin? I don't really know him. He was a model
that I photographed a few times, and I heard he retired a few months ago. Came
up to me a few weeks ago for some chitchat, and I gave him a photo of you. He
was really taken with you. God, Ralph, you're fucking him?"

   But Griffin knew a lot about Ralph. Ralph shut his eyes, remembering the late
night talks when Griffin would quote from Ralph's books. The man had read
everything Ralph wrote. Small things now pieced in Ralph's minds, things that
he'd thought odd briefly but soon forgotten, like Griffin knowing the location of the
bathroom, bedroom, and many rooms in this penthouse apartment without being
told. Griffin knowing the nature of the Church landscape in the study without
Ralph telling him. So many small inconsequential things that Ralph might not
have noticed if he wasn't a study of inconsequential details.

   "Oh God," he said in horror.

   "Ralph," he said the man's low voice outside his door. "Let me in."

   "Please, go away," he said back. "Please."

   He heard the man's low curse. Then silence, except for shoes walking away
from his door.


Griffin left messages on his machine, every fifteen minutes for the first day. Ralph
ignored the knockings at his door, or the way Griffin shouted his name until his
voice was hoarse.

   Let it stop, he typed, barely seeing what he was typing through the tears
blurring his eyes. I should call the cops. I should. But I can't.

   Ralph heard the phone ring, and the answering machine coming to life.

   "Why won't you see me, Ralph?" came Griffin's broken voice. "I know you're
listening. Please, talk to me." Silence. "Talk to me," Griffin said now, calmly and
steely. "Talk to me, Ralph. I love you."

   Ralph sobbed into his fist, biting the knuckles until they bled.

   "Talk to me!" Griffin screamed now. "Talk to me! TALK TO ME!!!"

   With a shaking hand, Ralph tugged at the machine, and ripped it out of its
socket and flung it across the room with a crash.


Life has no meaning, he wrote. Not now, not when the man I love is nothing but
an illusion. What am I living for now? I am melancholy. I am bitterness. I am
doomed.


Victor's body was found the next day, and the official cause of death was by
stabbing.

   Ralph read the news, answered the cops' questions calmly, and told them
about Griffin.

   "You okay?" John said, sitting beside Ralph and pushing a mug of hot coffee in
the man's shaky hands.

   "I may never be," Ralph said. "Maybe I never was okay."

   "You're never this screwed up before. Are you on drugs?" John asked in
concern.

   "No." Yes, and that drug was Griffin. Even now, Ralph craved the man, wanting
the man's touch deep in every inch of his being. "Please, I need to be alone."

   John whispered before he left to the cop on watch to make sure Ralph didn't
have any easy access to potential suicide instruments.


Ralph wasn't surprised to find Griff in his bedroom when he awoke at one in the
morning.

   "Tell me, shall I shoot him?" Griff said, one muscular arm around the cop's
neck, another pointing a gun at the man's head.

   "No." Ralph tried to control his rising fear and excitement.

   "Too bad." Griff pulled the trigger.

   Ralph cried, averting his ears, opening them only when Griffin laughed. The
man threw the still alive but unconscious cop aside, having shot at the roof.

   "You think I will disobey you?" Griff asked, his voice reflecting genuine
puzzlement. "I love you. I will do anything you say."

   "You killed Victor," Ralph said. He was surprised at how calm he felt.

   "He tried to take you away from me," Griffin said simply.

   "You lied to me."

   "I never told you anything to even lie to you in the first place," Griffin said
crossly. "Fine, I'm a stalker, I admit it. I am in love with you ever since I read your
book Incideterata. You described my madness and torment so well that I thought
you were my soul mate."

   Griffin climbed onto the bed, on all four, moving towards Ralph. "My therapist
said I was deluding myself. And I thought he was right, so I decided to see you
for myself. Lucky me, John knew you. And lucky me too, you were so hot for me
the moment we saw each other that I knew I was right. You and I are soul
mates."

   He leaned forward until he was an inch away from Ralph's face. That pleasant,
charming face was now terrifying in its gentle calmness despite the horrifying
things he was saying.

   "I have killed for you, and say the word and I will do it again. I will lie, cheat, do
time, and die for you, Ralph." Griff smiled crookedly. "Yes, you have so much
power over me. Doesn't that excite you?"

   "You're mad,"

   "As are you."

   Ralph's eyes widened at that.

   "How many times have you wanted to die? How many times did you feel as if
you're losing control? That's how I feel without you in my life," Griffin continued.
"And I know you feel the same way."

   "Yes," Ralph whispered, looking away.

   "Are you mad at me for killing Victor?" Griffin asked.

   "Too late for that question, isn't it, since Victor is already dead?" Ralph said
with a short bitter laugh.

   "Next time I will try to rein in on my impulsive actions," Griffin said seriously.
Then he smiled. "Admit it, Ralph, you're aroused at the thought of me killing for
you. I will even kill for us, love." He placed the gun's nozzle at Ralph's forehead.
"See? You're shivering in excitement."

   "I'm terrified," Ralph answered, breathing hard.

   "And aroused," Griffin murmured, looking down at the steely erection of Ralph
pressing against his stomach. He bent down and lowered his mouth to Ralph's.
As they kissed, he felt Ralph's hand slowly prying the gun from his hand. He
didn't care. He deepened the kiss, tasting Ralph's very essence, and not all
caring when he felt Ralph pushing the pistol at his chest.

   A shot rang through the night.



FIVE

"The moral of the story is, I guess, never pick up strangers, no matter how
appealing they can be," Ralph told his friends.

   He was back to his old self, witty, self-effacing, and debonair. The same crazy
writer who was pathetic in poker.

   "Welcome back, old friend," John said.

   "Hear, hear," Ben Affleck chorused to the agreement of those at the poker
table.

   "Too bad about the cop who died after shooting that lunatic stalker," Stephen
murmured. "You can still stay at my old place, Ralph. It'll be impossible to find a
decent pad at this time of the year."

   "No, I've found a new place." Ralph smiled. "I'm leaving New York." He looked
at his stunned friends. "Of course, I'll be seeing you guys as I'll be coming down
often to rendezvous with my editor and such, but you're right, John. I need new
scenery. I think I will love New Mexico."


Griffin was waiting with the car. Ralph smiled, picking his luggage.

   "I love you," Griffin said.

   He killed, he lied, and he burned Ralph's pad.

   Ralph climbed onto the car. Fuck all that, really. "Let's go to New Mexico," he
said.