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.