THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB Joaquin
By and copyright Lady Poetess
Visit http://www.egroups.com/group/gentlemens-club
Disclaimer This story is fictitious and has no resemblance to anyone dead or alive.
PROLOGUE
"There is one single moment I will always remember in my life," the man said in bland monologue. He looked at the ceiling, lying still with his hands on his chest, a perfect stillness on the couch. "I was sixteen, running along the night from the angry neighbors. They caught me trying to steal the car radio of – I can't remember whose car it was."
"Did they catch you?"
"They were armed with baseball bats, sticks, and I think Jones had a gun. Jones never liked me. But no, they didn't catch me. Bob saved me." The first sign of emotion graced the man's hard face, a brief yet gentle smile. He said the name as if he was carefully holding something fragile, something precious. "Bob, the town's golden son, the son of the wealthy businessman who gave the town jobs. He was around seven years older than me. I had a crush on him ever since I was fourteen. I talked to him once, you know. I told him, 'Hi, hand me all the money you got, and by the way, I'm Joaquin.' He laughed, handed me a hundred bucks, and told me to go do something else more worthwhile than stealing. He could've handed me to the cops, since I stupidly wanted him to know I existed, but he didn't.
"Anyway, back to that night, he called my name (I'm surprised and honored that he remembered it) and gestured for me to climb up onto his tree house. And he lied to the others, telling them I ran somewhere else. Of course, they believed him. Bob would never do anything wrong or remotely bad. Except that night."
"Did he tell you why he helped you?"
"No. I never asked. But he's the first person to help me. Big Jim at the café didn't count, since he demanded me as payment, I guess. But Bob, he never asked me anything. He just said, 'I think you ought to get out of town'. So I stole his car and money and drove out and never looked back."
"But I guess Bob weighed on your conscience, if you still remember the incident so vividly."
"Conscience? What's that?" The man looked at his shrink, grinning without humor. "Bob haunts my days and nights. Sometimes I see him in every dark- haired man I see or sleep with, and always, every night, I would see him. He actually looked hurt when I took his car. I guess he had the right to be hurt, since I did repay his kindness that way." He sighed softly. "Kindness. Bob was kind to me. That night I thought I was looking at the face of an angel. I felt so relieved, and there's a part of me that wanted to weep." He mumbled something.
"I'm sorry I didn't catch you, Joaquin."
Joaquin Rafael Phoenix looked as if he had swallowed something bitter. "I think I fell in love that night with Bob, maybe since the first time I saw him. All these years I think I have never gotten out of it. And I want this to end, Doc. I want to stop dreaming of Bob."
ONE
Now
Bob Downey, Jr was tired. Tired of doing stand-up comedy to so many faceless people in the audience, tired of putting on the happy face he was far from feeling. He was also sick of working, always working and worrying when his next paycheck would arrive. Since his parents' bankruptcy, he had been working two jobs for as long as he remembered, first to survive college and then to pay off his loans and rent.
At thirty-one, he found himself working as an electrician/plumber by day, a comedian in the evenings, and an amateur book cover writer. The latter meant that he wrote those stupid things at the back of book covers. At the same time, he was often mistaken as the persona he put on his evening shows: the cheerful, happy, carefree bastard that was light years from who Bob actually was.
As he sat in his apartment, all in darkness except for his table light, trying to compose a stupid synopsis for some dumb crime thriller book jacket as well as his next act on Friday. He couldn't, not when he was playing his favorite my-life- is-screwed soundtrack on the CD player (Les Miserables) and feeling quite depressed at the endless routine that was his life.
"What I wouldn't give for a million dollars," he said as the waifish Eponine croaked about flowers growing in the rain in the background. He could get a better job, of course, for he had a college degree. But the job market for English Literature degree holders was slim, which was an understatement really.
If he drunk himself silly, he would tell himself that he loved his life. Really – the stand-up comedian thing was fun.
"I have a million dollars."
Bob jumped and grabbed for a weapon. "Who the fuck are you?" he yelled, terrified out of his wits being an understatement. He waved the chair threateningly. "Get out of my house."
"Relax." The man stood up from where he was seating in the corner, a particularly shadowed corner. He had to be very still to escape Bob's admittedly not very alert eyes. "And before you ask, I walked up the fire escape and climbed in through your window. I waited until you came in, and then I decided to see you mope in self-pity before I announce myself."
"The window was unlocked?" Bob asked stupidly.
"Yes," the man said. "Are you going to switch on the lights and see who I am?"
Bob hesitated, and did just that. As lights flooded the room, almost blinding him, he squinted. The man standing still and upright in his room was tall, the illusion of greater height brought on by the steady, resolute stiffness of his posture. But there was something familiar in the harshly chiseled face, its sullen demeanor, the hard green eyes, the overlarge nose, and the implacable determination in the hard-set lips. Bob couldn't place the familiar feel of the man however. "Who – " he started to ask.
"Joaquin Phoenix. I stole your car and money."
"Oh." For a moment, Bob was twenty-three again, trying not to stammer as he looked at the younger boy whom he had a tremendous crush on. "You broke my heart that night," he said in forced calmness. "Lucky me I had a cute new neighbor the week after that."
"Yeah, lucky you I'm that forgettable."
"So what do you want? You look as if you've done well, so you can't be here to take my car and money. Unless, of course, old habits die hard." Bob felt his usual self returning now that he knew the intruder was just Joaquin. They were both adults now, and Bob would handle the resurgent infatuation that never actually died like an adult would. But his hands were shaking as he tried to pull open his fridge door.
"You're not going to call the police?"
"You're not going to behave, are you?"
"I always have problems behaving," Joaquin said.
"Yeah? Looking at you now I'll say you have no problems behaving yourself." Bob took out a can of beer and reluctantly another one for Joaquin after the latter cast him an ugly look. "What happened to you, Joaquin?"
"Nothing much. I decided to be a new man like you told me to that night. And when you're rich there's no need to misbehave."
There was more. Joaquin was now an entirely different man from the boy he had been. This Joaquin was like a solid rock, determined to control everything he felt or said or even did. A far cry from the boy who stole a kiss even as he stole Bob's new car. That old Joaquin was a rebel, an exciting color in Bob's young, organized life. This Joaquin was terrifyingly controlled, and Bob didn't know this adult Joaquin anymore – at all. "Why are you here?" he asked, dreading the answer, in case it was the very one answer that had plagued him in his adolescent fantasies.
"Just visiting old friends. I'm moving to New York."
"Well, you've seen me. Go plague someone else."
"You're the only friend I want to see tonight."
Bob tried to shrug in nonchalance he didn't feel. "You've seen me. I need to work. So go." He smiled weakly.
Joaquin's answering smile was stronger and more feral. "It's so good to see you."
Those words took Bob by surprise – and threw him off-balance. "Yeah," he said, trying to decipher Joaquin's behavior. What was the man up to? "I'm glad to know you're doing okay."
"As okay as I can be," Joaquin said vaguely, his eyes never leaving Bob. Finally he shook his head as if throwing off a spell. He looked at the can of beer in his hand. "I've better be going," he said.
"Take your time in coming back," Bob told him.
Joaquin turned so suddenly, Bob barely stopped from crashing into him. And the man smiled even more feral – if that was possible – as he seized Bob's hands in his. Two cans of beer fell onto the floor, spilling their contents, unheeded by both men.
For Bob, he couldn't breathe. He daren't breathe, or he would intoxicate himself in the scent of Joaquin's cologne and warm, warm flesh. The burning touch of Joaquin's hands amplified his awareness of the man's solid muscularity and the strength barely controlled within the deceptively lean frame. And his hands curled into fists to prevent themselves from running along the evening growth of stubble along Joaquin's strong jaw. From the darkening of Joaquin's hyacinth eyes, Bob knew he wasn't the only one feeling this. It was as if they were in the tree house again, this time Joaquin as affected as Bob.
Bob's libido surged forth, flattered as well as aroused at being lusted by such a man like Joaquin. His common sense also screamed a warning – this was Joaquin, volatile Joaquin. While Bob was pretty desperate for a decent lay, he wasn't so desperate as to play with a time bomb.
"Sleep with me," Joaquin whispered, his warm breath on Bob's lips. So close, they were so close…
"No fucking way!" Bob pushed Joaquin away in his fear. "This is crazy! Out, out, out!"
"No," Joaquin growled.
Bob glared at him.
"Okay, I'll behave," Joaquin said reluctantly. "Sure you won't change your mind?"
"No." Bob pushed against the solid hard chest of the other man. "You terrify me by breaking into my place and you expect me to sleep with you ten minutes after seeing you? You're lucky I don't call the cops. Now get lost. Go bother someone else."
"You know I'll come back."
"I'll get a restraining order."
"Think that will stop me?"
"Out!"
Joaquin raised his hands in a gesture of peace and turned to leave.
TWO
"Maybe I kind of scared him a little," Joaquin said the next day.
The psychiatrist bit back a smile. "I'll say you did. Breaking into his apartment and telling him you'll stalk him until he sleeps with you won't get you anything but a restraining order."
"I should've behaved. But seeing him sitting there at his table – Doc, I must be crazy but I think that's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I don't know why, it's not as if he's handsome. He's okay to look at, won't terrify babies in the dark, but when I look at him, I keep thinking of how he looked like smiling and looking at me gently. I'm losing it, I'm turning into a sap."
"You really want this guy?"
"I think so." Joaquin bit his lower lip thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind coming home to a man who is kind to me. And I know I can take care of him, so I guess it's a fair exchange for him caring for me."
"You're talking more than an affair here, Joaquin. Are you ready for it? You told me you haven't been able to maintain a relationship for long in your past."
"That's because they weren't Bob," Joaquin said without hesitation.
"Why Bob? Apart from him being kind to you once so many years ago?"
"Why Bob?" Joaquin frowned in thought. "Why shouldn't it be Bob? Bob's funny. He does this three-nights-a-week comedy routine that I attended once a few nights ago, and I found myself smiling. Not smiling out of nastiness, but a real smile. I like him, and I find myself relaxing around him. I don't have to pretend I'm a decent gentleman, since he knows what sort of man I am, you see."
"Comedy?" Dr Matthew Broderick jumped to full alert for the first time since this man called him early that morning to demand an impromptu session. What Joaquin Phoenix wanted, well, he was demanding enough to get it. "Bob? Bob Downey? He's the man you're thinking of stalking?"
Too late, he realized that Joaquin had grinned for the first time that day.
"Ah, so you know him. Small world, Doc."
"No, I don't. I have seen his shows." His boyfriend Ethan was thick with Bob.
"You know him well," Joaquin guessed. "Perfect! You can help me get him!"
"No," Doc hastened to repair the damage, "no, that's unprofessional. In fact, I should reassign you to another colleague of mine – "
"You will help me, Doc," Joaquin told him.
Doc sighed. Joaquin wasn't asking, and when he was in his Genghis Khan mode, Doc felt intimidated enough to cave in.
THREE
Bob saw Joaquin walking towards his store, and immediately he ordered his assistant to tell the man he was out. Even as his heart soared at the sight of Joaquin – stupid, since he didn't even know that man! – whom he hadn't seen for three days, he ran into his store room and pulled the shades down. And locked the door.
"He's not in here!" he heard his assistant Jane protested.
Joaquin's heavy shoes thumped on the floor. "Yeah, you told me already," he said, then there was a loud thump of fist on door. "Don't look so terrified. I don't have a gun, I don't need money, and I don't want to kill Bob. I'm actually a very nice guy." Then there was another loud thump – the washroom door. "Bob? I know you're in here. Your van is parked outside."
The doorknob turned, and then there was a violent shake on the door. "Open up Bob."
"Get the fuck away, you psychopath," Bob told him. "You're mad. You're a lunatic nutcase!"
"Obviously you have been talking to my ex-boyfriend," Joaquin said, testing the door. "You know, I can stand out here and wait until either you come out or your sweet assistant calls the cops."
"What do you want?"
"I want to apologize over last night. I just realize I shouldn't ask you to sleep with me ten minutes after meeting you. It's rude, I know. Maybe we can go for a few dates and then we sleep together, how's that?"
"Call the cops!"
"Don't you fucking move!" – presumable Joaquin was talking to Jane, before telling Bob, "I take that as a no?"
"I don't believe this!" Bob groaned. This was an all-time low in his life, worse than when he dated a twenty-two year old friend of a friend out of pity and almost got chewed by the date's possessive boyfriend-to-be. He fought a crazed need to laugh. "Joaquin, you are fucking crazy. No, I don't want to date or sleep with you."
"Why not?" Joaquin demanded.
Bob realized the man was really, dead serious. "You really want to know why?"
"Yeah." Joaquin sounded defiant, almost hurt. "Because of what I was? I can buy you a car that looked like the one I stole from you. I'm now clean, I can prove it. Haven't stolen or beaten anyone for years."
"I believe you."
"So?"
"Oh Joaquin, this is crazy. I don't know you, and you are mad, you know that? You can't walk up here and expect me to fall into your arms. You're scary, and you're – you're nuts!" Bob wondered if calling Joaquin nuts was wise. "I mean, I'm sure there are other classier men out there waiting for you."
"But I want you," Joaquin said simply. "And I know I'm not unattractive to you. I have lots of money and I can give you security. I don't see why you don't want me."
"You have a lot to learn about the courtship scene," Bob muttered. Aloud, he told the man, "Joaquin, please, go away. Please." He injected the last word with as much weariness as he could muster.
He would never know how much that weary note succeeded where his pleadings wouldn't. But Joaquin learned at that moment that he couldn't bear seeing (or hearing, as was the case) Bob unhappy, and at that moment, it tore him into pieces that he was the cause. "I would do it right," he said to himself, realizing that he had gone too far this time, as usual, without knowing it. "I'll go Bob. I'm sorry."
And Bob learned at that moment that he hadn't the heart to hold a grudge on this man who, despite his virile exterior, acted just like a puzzled overgrown puppy. "Apology accepted."
He heard footsteps receding away, and sighed in relief. Then jumped when the door was knocked again. "Is it because I didn't bring flowers?" Joaquin asked.
"Restraining order!" Bob yelled.
He waited, and tensed when there was yet another knock.
"Bob?" It was Jane. "He's gone. Shall I call the cops?"
Bob was too exhausted with relief to answer.
FOUR
"No! Get him away from me!" Doc screamed in a most un-Doc-like manner when the phone rang that evening, startling Doc's partner Ethan Hawke. The latter stopped his typing on the computer and looked up in surprise.
"Who is that?" he asked even as the answering machine came to life.
"Don't remind me of him. Don't even call my name – he'll know!"
Ethan looked at Doc cowering in the kitchen and then at the phone in perplexed bemusement. "You do know he can't see you through the phone, don't you?"
"Doc, I know you're hiding, pick up. Pick up, I need to talk to you." A voice cut through the voice recording.
"See?" Doc shrieked. "He knows. He's like the antichrist. I'll have to pack up and start all over again in Vancouver. Or Wisconsin. No one will find me in Wisconsin."
Concerned now, Ethan made to pick up the phone. "Who the fuck is this?" he asked into the phone. "If you want the Doc, asshole, call him in the office. How the hell did you get this number – Joaquin? Sonovabitch, how have you been?"
"How the hell did you know Joaquin?" Doc demanded as soon as Ethan put the phone down moments later, bewildered by all the weird coincidences going on. "How – he knew all along. He knew me all along. God! That's it. Wisconsin it is."
"Hey, Joaquin is one of those guys with too much money that throw some into the Brigadiers. I met him two months or so before, and I gave him your card. I give your card to everybody I meet – you know how my friends are, all screwed up and need therapy. I didn't know he'll actually contact you."
"Don't give my card to your friends," Doc said through gritted teeth, stabbing his finger at Ethan's chest. "First that oversexed sex maniac Mark and now this robotic psychopath. Do you know he's crazy about Bob, our friend Bob – that Bob? And he's demanding I teach him how to woo Bob! I give up! I don't want to see any of your friends in my office, you hear that? No more!"
"Hey, hey, points well taken. Calm down Doc. Hush, hush, I'll send them away." Ethan laughed softly. "Poor Doc. It must be hard, living with a crazy like me and seeing more crazies day by day. Why don't you go take a warm bath and I'll join you soon? You could use a massage, love."
"Don't think you're so easily forgiven," Doc said, but he walked to the bathroom all the same.
"Don't bet on it," Ethan murmured, his eyes never leaving Doc's as he chuckled at the absurdity of the whole situation.
FIVE
Bob wasn't pleased when he trudged back from a very smelly and disgusting sewer job to find Jane happily polishing a giant tub of Haagen Das ice cream while the psychopath was leaning against her desk, talking to her in a low, smooth voice that sounded seductive rather than oily.
"Hi, boss, Joaquin wants to see you."
"I told you he's a psycho," Bob told her.
"He's nice. Besides, he doesn't get sexual high out of killing women, he told me, so I'm safe. He's not a psycho, Bob, he's a nice guy."
"Traitor." To Joaquin, he gave a dirty look. "What is it now?"
"I don't know what you like, so I brought flowers" – Joaquin gestured at the bouquet of irises in a vase at the desk – "chocolates and candies" – the boxes beside the vase – "and then some ice cream, but it's melting so I gave it to Jane instead."
"So you think all these would win me over."
"Did I miss something?"
"You're not human. You're an alien. Jesus, Joaquin, don't you have any idea how normal people are supposed to behave? They meet, they talk, and if they like each other, they date. I don't even like you."
"That's harsh," Jane interjected.
"So you'll just turn me away?" Joaquin asked.
"Is that so difficult to understand?" Bob shot back.
"I can talk, and I'm sure we can start to like each other," Joaquin started to say.
"Joaquin, I – "
Joaquin cursed and rubbed his lower face in frustration. "Okay. I see," he said quietly. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."
Bob looked away, not wanting to see the man's eyes. What could he say? He listened until Joaquin's footsteps disappeared with the slamming of the door, and started to breathe again.
"Bob's a coward. He knows that, and everyone knows it. You definitely bungled up big time, buddy. You can't charge up like a bull, no matter how attracted he is to you. Bob's like Doc – people like them need pampering and reassuring before they give in," Ethan told a forlorn and disconsolate Joaquin through the phone that night. "So just tell him how you feel. You can't afford to keep your pride if you're that miserable. He'll want to hear words of love and reassurances of fidelity and happy ever after."
"Is that how it is with Doc?"
Silence. Then Ethan spoke, this time with a distinct heaviness in his voice apparent even through the line. "Doc drove me over the edge and took me back. Don't let Bob do that to you, Nate. If he says no after what you've told him, he's not worth it."
"I can't tell him, Eth. I don't know how to put it in nice words."
"Why don't you tell me, and I'll help you improvise?"
"I can't listen to this," Bob said, trying to sit up.
"Sit down," Ethan hissed, pushing Bob down. "Yeah, Joaquin, just tell me."
"What can I tell him?"
"How about what you remember about the night he helped you?"
"That? He's the first guy to ever do something good for me without asking me to blow him or something in return. I don't know, what's this got to do with me and Bob?"
"Just tell me, and I'll see how you can use it to your advantage, Joaquin."
"Okay. Well, "Joaquin said, hesitantly, as if he was organizing his thoughts carefully. "Well, I, uh, something changed inside me that night, I guess. I looked at him, that night, looking at me as if he thought me someone worth rescuing. For the first time I felt like a freaking human being instead of some shit the old man beat bad or something. And I hoped maybe one day I can be a good man like Bob no doubt would be and come back for him."
Bob stared at the phone in shock. He should leave, but he couldn't move.
"Really, Joaquin?" Ethan asked cynically, looking at Bob's face. "You want to come back for him?"
"It's a stupid thing actually, but it's nice to hope. But look at me. I'm rich and I pay my taxes. He still doesn't want me."
"He did call you psycho."
"I can't help it. I try, but when I am with him, my brain screws up. Fuck, I mean, I can't stop wanting him, and I can't think with a hard cock."
"This is going nowhere. It sounds like a bad script. Let's try again," Ethan said.
"I told you I'm no good at this."
"Okay. Do you love him?"
"I do. I think. I mean, I have been thinking of him all these fucking years. It's not normal, right? When things get fucked up, I see his face that night, and the way he thought me a fellow worth saving. And I would remember that one day I wanted to see him again and make him see that I am now a man he could be proud of. I can't keep my boyfriends because when I sleep, I dream of that night, and I sometimes call out his name, which, I must say, fucked up many of my relationships." Joaquin paused in his surprisingly long declaration. "Is that love? I don't know, but I think it is."
"So what do you want from Bob now?"
"Just a chance to see if we can work things, I guess. I like this grown-up Bob, mind you. He's rather cute when he's mad at me. And I'm in love with him already. You know, Eth, your advice sucks. He hates the gifts, and he wouldn't even look at them. I wish I were someone else. I really wish I am someone posh and normal – sometimes I wish that night never happened, so I can walk into Bob's life without him remembering that I was a bad trash kid in his neighborhood once."
"What will you do if Bob says no?" Ethan asked quietly.
"He already did. What can I do?" Poor Joaquin, he sounded close to tears. "Eth, don't tell anyone, but I always wanted to be just like Bob, still do sometimes. I still remember watching him once, before I knew I loved him, buying some CDs in the store. Posh music from stage shows, which I bought when I became rich. I read the same sort of books he read, and I tried the same food he liked. I still think I prefer Big Macs to some unpronounceable French gook, and I'd stick to Tom Clancy, but the music is good. I love the Les Miserables songs. The one where Fantine sings to – "
"Joaquin, focus," Ethan cut in gently.
"Oh yeah." (Bob could picture Joaquin grinning sheepishly here). "What if Bob says no? I don't want to hurt him, so I'll just stay away. I have a feeling I'll never stop loving him though. He can love someone else, tell me no, destroy my pride, whatever, I will still be his. Pathetic, isn't it?"
Ethan placed his hand over the mouthpiece and told Bob, "You're right. He's a psycho."
Bob couldn't see from the tears in his eyes. "Yeah, he is," he said. How sad, for the both of them.
SIX
Joaquin was actually crying to the strains of Fantine's Death when he heard the knock on his door. Since it was one in the morning, there was only one possible identity of the person at the door, and the possibility of him being there was near zero.
But Joaquin opened the door nonetheless.
"You don't want a boring boyfriend," he told Bob. "You want a psycho like me. I can do crazy things to make you laugh. You will sometimes get very mad at me that you will wonder why you put up with me, but I will then follow you wherever you go and love you until you forget why you are mad at me in the first place. I will never hurt you intentionally, Bob, and if I did, I am sorry. I really am."
Well, turned out Bob at the door wasn't his imagination. And this Bob was crying too.
"Don't cry," Joaquin said gently. "Please don't cry."
"I can't help it. I've never been wanted this much before."
He knew then that Bob heard what he had told Ethan. He didn't care how Bob knew, but he would kill Ethan later. After he stopped Bob from crying. "I'm sorry," Joaquin said even as another tear rolled down his cheek. "I don't want to embarrass you."
"No, I'm not embarrassed." Bob tried to smile but failed miserably. "I guess you're right to wish that night never happened. I keep remembering you as the boy I had a crush on whom then betrayed me by running out on me with my car and money. And you kissed me, and I hated you so long for making me dream you'd come back for me. I'm sorry too."
"It's late and I know you have to wake up early. Do you want to sleep here? I can sleep on the couch. I can drive you home later today."
"No."
"Oh." Joaquin tried to look nonchalant, but couldn't.
"If I sleep here, you don't have to sleep on the couch," Bob said softly.
Joaquin couldn't smile or say anything smart to that. He just opened the door wide for Bob.
They didn't take it fast. Joaquin slowly kissed Bob's tears as he moved his thighs between Bob's legs and then he kissed the man's lips and chin, and down to the neck. His cock pulsed against Bob's ringed entrance to the anus, but he only lodged his fast-moistening tip against the tight folds. As he kissed Bob's heated skin and mouth, he couldn't stop saying things, inane things like how he would die without Bob's love, Bob's touch.
He slept in Bob's arms that way too, his cock inserted up Bob's anus only as deep as his cock tip. It was morning when he awoke, and the feel of his cock in someone's heated anus instinctively prompted him to thrust a few inches deeper until Bob's muted cry of awakening made him fully awake.
But without words, he started thrusting, and Bob lifted his hips to accept him fully. They moved together, breathing heavily together, the sweat of Joaquin's body coursing down in rivulets down his stomach to along Bob's thighs. Only when Bob convulsed in pleasure did Joaquin release his climax, and even then he didn't release Bob until he absolutely had to.
Morning. Usually the morning-after was reserved for regrets and hang-over. Joaquin opened his eyes warily and saw Bob dressing.
He groaned. A lot groan, as if he was in pain.
And naturally, Bob walked over in concern. "What's wrong?"
At that moment he reached out and pulled Bob crashing down onto the bed beside him.
"Fucking hell, I have to go to work!"
Joaquin didn't pay attention, not when his eyes were riveted at the sight of light dark tufts of hair peeking from the collar of – Bob? – Bob's shirt. Only then, when his hard cock flexed, did he realize he was naked. His eyes caught Bob's, the latter taking a brief glance at the fast-hardening cock of Joaquin's before looking away. Then down again.
Joaquin smiled, not a very pretty smile, judging from how Bob paled further. A drop of moisture fell onto Bob's shirt from Joaquin's cock as Joaquin lifted Bob's chin to look at the man.
"I really don't think – " Bob started to say, then spoiled the effect by licking his lips.
"Oh? Really?" Joaquin asked.
Bob didn't answer. He stared at Joaquin's cock in such hunger that Joaquin's stomach muscles involuntarily tensed. "Go on," Joaquin murmured. "It's yours."
But nothing prepared Joaquin for the feel of Bob's fevered lips closing over the head of his throbbing cock. Heat enveloped him like a fevered sheath, a velvet embrace of saliva and satin skin. Oh yeah, how could he live without this?
Especially when Bob's tongue started to tease him. Joaquin threw his head back and closed his eyes as he savored the feel of Bob's tongue cleaning up, along the piss slit and around the smooth tip, before moving to lick and tease the sensitive ridge of the cock. Bob's hands burned him as well, as they massaged his hips, making him almost lose his strength in his knees, before feeling his stomach and buttocks. Joaquin gritted his teeth as indescribable pleasure wracked him. He thrust his cock deep, trying not to bruise Bob's jaw in his grip as he did so, and – "God!" he cried as he lost control.
Heated semen surged forth, gushing from his cock to flood Bob's mouth and throat. Joaquin thrust again, and again, savoring the feel of his juices and Bob's saliva coating him, and trembling at the sensation of being sucked at as Bob hungrily swallowed his juices.
"Bob," he said, almost reverently. "I've come back."
"Will I see you again?" Joaquin asked three hours later, freshly showered and in clean clothes, as he watched Bob walk to the door.
"Maybe we can date," Bob conceded.
"Flowers, ice cream, chocolates?" Joaquin asked. "I'll try to behave. I promise."
"Just bring yourself," Bob said. "I'm off at six."
"I'll have you in my bed by seven." Joaquin lifted one hand in placating gesture. "Six it is, Bob."
He was whistling happily as he prepared for work later that morning.
EPILOGUE
"It's him, I know it's him. Don't even go near the phone," Doc said, cowering behind his newspaper.
Ethan grinned and continued eating his breakfast.
"Doc, I'm calling you here because I know your office isn't opened yet. Anyway I want to thank you and no, I don't think I need to come anymore. Bob and I are dating for several weeks now, and we are doing great. He likes me when I don't behave, although he tries so hard to be stern and disapproving. So, thanks, and Ethan, if you're listening, consider the Brigadiers richer by half a million dollars."
"How did he get his wealth?" Doc asked suddenly. "I just realized he never told me."
"You don't want to know," Ethan said. "Trust me."
Doc decided to leave it at that.