The Gentlemens Club

THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB Jason

By and copyright Lady Poetess

http://www.gentlemensclub.cjb.net

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

ONE

Critical situations required a superhero. While Jason Nathaniel Behr wouldn't exactly see himself as a superhero, he figured this was a critical enough situation. He liked to see himself as an able man. Maybe not exactly James Bond, he had learned enough from Matt Damon and Wes Bentley (how to pick locks), Ricky Martin and Billy Zane (how to perform a decent B&E), and Jeremy Northam (how to move silently) to see himself pretty capable to handle a bit of B&E.

Jeremy had warned him that it was a plan that went beyond stupid, there was probably no word to describe it. Ricky even volunteered to do the B&E himself, and Jason would have taken him on that if Brian didn't look at him with that look that said he would make Jason hurt bad if he said okay.

Okay, so maybe a plan inspired by that stupid movie You've Got Mail didn't sound good on paper. But Jason wanted his bookshop back, and damned if he let Jeffrey Nordling take his shop and turn the whole block into a chain bookstore. Actually Jeffrey had all the right, since the shop was under Jason's brother's name, and fucking Danny sold out to Jeffrey to cover his sorry ass debts.

Jason had slaved his butt off for Whacked Beat and he'd be damned before he saw his store turned into a freaking Borders store. And unlike that dumb character played by Meg Ryan in You've Got Mail, he wasn't going to ask the press to cover his problem or sit around hoping Jeffrey Nordling, Corporate Bastard, would come around. No, that shit movie inspired him to take action -- to steal the grant and force Bastard Nordling to talk to him face to face over this.

Jason hated everything about the movie except for the bookstore part. He could use the interior decorating of the fictitious bookstore to spruce up his own -- after he had the grant in his hand and Bastard Nordling out of his life.

So far so good -- Bastard Nordling lived in one of those posh apartments one could afford only by trampling poor folks like Jason like maggots. Jason faced no problem walking up to the door and picking the lock. He was a fast learner, taking lessons from Wes and Matt without both men knowing the other's teaching, and learned to combine both ex-cons' advices. The room was in darkness, and Jason switched on that cute, sophisticated tiny flashlight he sort of borrowed from Kevin Richardson when the latter wasn't watching too closely.

The sight of a half-emptied glass of wine and the bottle at the living room table stopped him short. Shit, Bastard Nordling was supposed to be out today, from what his secretary told Jason this afternoon. Jason saw only one glass, so he relaxed slightly. If Bastard Nordling was having company, things could get embarrassing, because Jason needed to break into the safe in the Bastard's bedroom.

The beep of the answering machine coming to life almost made him jump out of his skin. His loud squeak was enough to wake the dead. Wincing, he dashed into the most shadowed corner as the tape of the answering machine started playing.

"This is Jeffrey Nordling. I've had a hard day and even a nuclear bomb probably wouldn't awaken me. Leave your message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Maybe."

At least the Bastard had a sense of humor, Jason thought as he released the breath he had been holding. He waited for a few thundering heartbeats, but all was silent except for the caller leaving his message.

"This is Hugh. If that moron Behr tries to break in and should you catch him -- I am betting you will catch that incompetent moron, please tell him that James is expecting him to come back in one-piece. I will also appreciate if you do not hand my lover's best friend to the cops."

Jason rolled up his eyes. Did everyone know he was going to break into the Bastard's place? He had confided to James Marsden, who must have blabbed to everyone else. He would have to talk to James when he got back.

First, he erased the message. Next, he had to get to the bedroom.

Where was it?

He reached for the sketched map in his pocket and squinted at it. Shit, he needed some light. Making his way to the lamp at the table, he tripped over something and fell heavily onto the floor with a loud crash. Fuck! He lay on the floor, not daring to move, and wondered if jail food tasted good.

Still, no rampaging Bastard came out to tear him to pieces. Maybe the man really was knocked out cold.

Carefully, tripping only two more times and making only a little crash each time, he switched on the lamp and scanned the map. Right, over there was the bedroom.

He didn't notice the light, barely visible through the hinges of the door, until it was too late. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn't turn away, however, not now, and he turned the doorknob.

It opened.

He realized belatedly that he should have put on those gloves he had in his pocket before he touched the door.

And worse, the door swung wide open. Anyone in the room would have seen him immediately. No one saw him however, because Jeffrey Nordling was asleep. Not in the large bed, but slumped over a worktable with his arms cushioning his chin, a sea of paper around his head. The light was switched on, and the air conditioner was running, and the Bastard slept, oblivious.

Jason thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. His knees wobbled as he felt weak all of a sudden, and slumped against the doorway, he let out a soft muted sigh. There it was again, the faint throbbing of pain in his chest, as if he had just taken a blow in his heart.

In the light, it was as if a faint glow of light enveloped the sleeping man. In sleep, the deep lines on Jeffrey's face smoothened, making him look… well, normal. Accessible. Jeffrey had this clean-cut all-American wholesome look that might had been pretty and little else in his younger days, but age had chiseled those facial bones, and laugh lines as well as worry lines had given him a distinguished air of maturity.

Jason had seen the man only in magazines, boring economic magazines that he read only as homework after he realized that his store had gone to the highest bidder. What he saw was a mere man, tired and worn out, and all the more devastatingly handsome with his normalcy. There are some men too handsome and too pretty, they seemed like inaccessible gods. Jeffrey Nordling seemed a mere fallen fighter who might have taken a small sleep out of weariness.

Once upon a time Jason would itch to touch the man, to see if the man was solid and real. He still did, fuck it -- even now his right hand was moving as if at its own accord to touch the sleeping man's head.

It was at that time that Jason's pager went off in a loud series of beeping.

"Fuck!" Jason snarled in exasperation the same time as the sleeping man jumped awake with a perfectly timed "What the fuck!" of his own.

Jason ripped the fucking pager out of his pocket and flung it across the room and reached for the gun he, err, 'borrowed' from Jeremy with his other hand. Stumbling back, he aimed the gun at the stunned-looking Jeffrey Nordling. "Don't move!" he yelled. "Or I'll shoot."

The Bastard obviously didn't care. A hard backhand caused Jason to yelp as the gun flew out of his hand across the room.

"Eek." Jason tried to fight, but he found himself pinned to the floor by a pair of rather meaty hands around his neck. "Ugh."

The fingers loosened their grip a little. "Now, maybe you will tell me what the fuck are you trying to do here," Jeffrey Nordling said in a low, hard voice.

He looked a very different man now awake, a far cry from the sleeping repose he exhibited. The bright green eyes were red-rimmed from exhaustion, but they still glittered with dangerous. Those lips, hinting of laughter, now tightened in predatory instinct to kill. Belatedly, even as he fought for air, he remembered Jeremy's offhand remark that Jeffrey served in the army before, and how Jeremy remarked, while he accompanied Jason on a pity date to watch Scream, that people were most dangerous when they are mostly acting on instincts.

Jeffrey was still not fully awake, and he would probably choke the life out of Jason when he gained control of his faculties. Jason looked at the ceiling and thought, oddly for a man who was about to die, of what he wanted on his tombstone. Here was a man who learned common sense too late -- that was a nice one.

"I -- uh, can't -- speak -- breathe," Jason gasped.

At once the fingers loosened until they are firmly around but not enough to suffocate him.

"You," Jeffrey said, surprising Jason. "I saw you. You are at my office, pretending to be a pizza delivery guy."

Remembering the fiasco that almost had him killed by two burly security guards, and how the delighted bitch of a receptionist kept screaming, "Beat him, whack him boys!" (bitch), Jason closed his eyes in humiliation as heat flooded his face. "I just want my shop back," he said.

"Shop? What shop?" Jeffrey had one hand leave Jason's neck and now placed it on the middle of Jason's chest.

Through the thick fabric of his shirt, Jason felt the man's touch searing right through his skin, and he shivered involuntarily as a sliver of lust cut through his haze of fear.

"Maybe we can work things out." Jeffrey was now looking at him with a predatory gleam in his eyes. And Jason was now more terrified because this time the lust in Jeffrey's eyes weren't just the need to kill. That hand on his chest now slid slowly in a caressing gesture along Jason's stomach, stopping only at where his shirt was tucked into his jeans.

"No," Jason whispered, he couldn't speak aloud.

"Why not?" Jeffrey pushed Jason's shirt upwards, his fingers burrowing under the fabric to tease Jason's clenched stomach muscles. His lips were so close as his face lowered to Jason's, that Jason could smell the alcohol on the man's breath. Then, "What the hell am I doing?" Jeffrey said in what seemed a voice of exasperation. He groaned and lowered his forehead on Jason's chest.

Jason looked at the man lying on him, not daring to breath. He was struck by how beautiful this man was, up close, and how tired Jeffrey seemed. Indeed, weariness exuded seemingly from every pore of Jeffrey's body. And Jeffrey just lay there, like a battle-weary lion. At its own impulse, Jason's right hand reached up and touched the man's cheek, feeling the raspy, sensual burn of the man's beard stubble on his skin.

Maybe he was mad, maybe they had both lost their minds, but when Jeffrey looked up and into Jason's eyes in surprise and question, Jason only let his fingers touch the man's lips. And he watched as Jeffrey's tongue snaked out to touch his fingers, licking them before letting his lips part and take them into his mouth.

Then they were kissing, their tongues rubbing against each other in a slither of rising desire, while Jeffrey pushed Jason's shirt up until he couldn't push any higher. Then he sighed and his mouth began lavishing caresses in maddeningly sensual tongue licks and suckles on the curve Jason's neck until Jason arched his head back and moaned. Then Jeffrey was nibbling his chest, suckling his nipples until they swelled in pleasure, until Jason gasped and pulled the man back and kissed him in a most bruising ferocity.

He was drowning, drowning, barely aware of anything but a sensation of that rare moment when he was drowning in Jeffrey's arms, in a sanctuary of warmth and security and connecting with a soul even if they was all illusionary. He was barely aware of raising his hips for Jeffrey to strip him off his jeans, only the man's kiss and tongue in his mouth, until he felt the man's wide moist tip pressed against his clenching anal ring. The cock pushed, and Jason cried silently, muted by Jeffrey's mouth on his, as he felt his flesh gave way in a wrenching tear that caused him to shudder and arched his back. The action only allowed Jeffrey to drive deeper, until Jason felt as if he was being split open by the thick penis.

Jeffrey thrust one steady plunge, and Jason could only clung to him, clawing at Jeffrey's back until he could feel the man's naked skin. He shuddered as Jeffrey fucked him hard, lifting his legs to clasp the man's pumping lower body. Finally, as Jason clenched Jeffrey's buttock cheeks hard, lost in his own ecstasy, as the man gave one thrust so deep, so hard up him, he heard Jeffrey's harsh, triumphant growl of pleasure, felt the man's drenching climax sluicing his insides, he couldn't help but to let his head fall back and wait for his breath to steady.

Looking at the ceiling stupidly, he thought, wow, what a night.

The page was from his mother. He staggered home at three in the morning, and erased the message. The answering machine at his apartment provided no respite. His mother left three messages -- "Jason, I hear you are trying to break into someone's place! Granted, your brother is a moron, but dear, please don't do something stupid like getting yourself thrown into jail or worse, killed. Call me and tell me you're okay."

Jason smiled despite himself as he kicked off his jeans, and threw the semen- smelling pair into his washing machine. Dear mom. Who would've thought Agatha Behr, white trash and alcoholic junkie, would have turned herself around so completely? She was still convinced that her alcohol/drug addiction was the cause of Jason being born 'funny'. Jason considered himself normal, but Agatha took her son's kleptomania and hyperactivity a punishment from the divine being.

She really loved her two children, no matter what faults she had. It wasn't easy, but she got into rehab, got a steady job at a supermarket until her kids grew up, and now spent her days working as a cook at a café and her nights watching cable TV. Jason loved her, but that mother can be a pain in the ass.

It was only when he moved out could he convince himself that he was a normal guy, not some mentally handicapped fellow his mother treated him as. Okay, so he couldn't concentrate, was crazily hyperactive, didn't speak until he was nine, and scared the hell out of her when he was ten and was obsessed with everything alien and satanic. But he was twenty-seven now, and he was reading books that claimed to teach him how to have a longer concentration span. He tried not to steal when he could, and he certainly spoke more than he did before. He also had a few friends.

And he could take care of himself, he thought as he placed the precious grant he took from Jeffrey when the latter was asleep, exhausted truly from sexual bliss earlier that night. (He refused to feel guilty -- okay, he did, but he had to do this.) His methods were unorthodox, but he could take care of himself.

Then, why, as he played the Bryan Ferry CD he just bought a few days before, did he feel like crying to the strains of music on the radio? Bryan Ferry was singing, "There's a band playing on the radio/With a rhythm of rhyming guitars/There's a band playing on the radio/And it's drowning the sound of my tears…" Jason looked at the clothes spinning in the washing machine and thought, how apt.

He was lonely before. He just never knew how acute until tonight. Every touch, every breath, every scent, of alcohol and sex -- he watched the clothes spin and tried not to think.

TWO

Jeffrey Derek Nordling stepped out of the way in time to avoid three roller-blading shrieking youngsters barreling out of the door of Whacked Beat. Jesus, he was definitely in another crazy whacked out dimension. This area of New York was one he would never visit under usual circumstances, and privately he thought it was about time civilization conquered and would eventually turn this lot of graffiti- riddled shops and all into clean shopping malls and overpriced bistros. Nothing like yuppies throwing money away in the name of capitalism to restore his faith in good old Uncle Sam.

It was two weeks after he awoke that morning from the best sleep he ever had. Usually it was he awaking too early and suffering some form of non-alcohol- induced hangover, but that morning, his head felt clear and it was as if he was a hundred pounds lighter in his soul. Even when he discovered two of his ties missing as well as a grant of a store his company recently acquired, he still could whistle to a tune of his childhood days as he shaved.

He looked at the corner store, an innocuous worn-down looking structure. Whacked Beat -- what a ridiculous, if quaint, name for a bookstore. Normally he wouldn't be aware of the existence of this store if this store hadn't held out against being bought by him for so long. It was annoying, for this store was the only one in this prime area unwilling to sell out to make way for a new suburban mall. Until Daniel Behr got involved in and lost a lawsuit and needed money to avoid bankruptcy, and finally, Jeffrey was well on his way to making some Japanese corporate suits happy.

Jason Behr had given him a lot of problems, and it irritated him that he and his men had been concerting their efforts at the wrong person for so long. Who would've thought Daniel was the one who owned the store? And Daniel was the one who was more than willing to sell out?

He had never met Jason Behr before, since it was always his underlings who did his dirty work. Now, he wished he had known Jason Behr, unlike his rather weasel-like brother, was a delicate, elfin-looking man with too-bright eyes that seemed to hide too many secrets. (He was pretty sure it was Jason who broke into his place that night -- he'd find out soon, wouldn't he?) Dark hair gave that man an appearance of a dark elfin being, and his pale complexion only added to illusion of darkness surrounding the man. A man who was made to walk the shadows, Jeffrey's favorite fantasy novelists might say.

And a man whose timid attempts at intimidation bemused as well as aroused his protective tendencies, and a man whose hard nail imprints on Jeffrey's back and lower portions of his body still burned in Jeffrey's mind long after the bloody scratches had healed.

Still, Jeffrey hesitated outside the store entrance. This place reminded him of an old drug store he used to drop by when he was a kid, poor and fast becoming adept at shoplifting. Shaking off useless memories, he pushed open the door.

The store was larger than it looked from the outside. Or rather, it was a clever illusion of largeness created by use of several tiers of floors, all lined with comic racks. Comics in magazine or book form -- Jeffrey's eyes widened at the sight of comics American, Chinese, and Japanese lining every inch of available space, fighting for attention of the mostly young customers with posters and art plates as well as videos of comic characters Anglo-Saxon as well as Oriental in appearance. Whacked Beat was definitely a far cry from the middle-class culture of a Borders store or the ersatz yuppie caffeine of Tower Books, and hence frighteningly alien to Jeffrey.

There was no loud music blaring from the speakers, thankfully, and Jeffrey's ears were serenaded by the eccentric vocals of Kate Bush instead. That was Whacked Beat's sole concession to the age of the man running the store. Jason Nathaniel Behr was twenty-seven last December, but he looked seventeen or eighteen, his taste in music notwithstanding.

Jeffrey couldn't miss Jason behind the counter. Every one of his senses focused on the man the moment he oriented himself to his environment, the conflagration in his senses reminding him of every touch, every taste, and more importantly, the way he felt free and cleansed the next morning. He had paid thousands for sleep therapy that never worked as good as Jason. Hence, the man intrigued him, haunted him, and bugged him until he confronted Jason.

Oh, and he wanted the grant back.

Jason was on the phone even as he placed the comics of a tall, rangy boy sporting a Mohawk hairstyle and too many earrings into a paper bag. Money exchanged hands, and the boy left, allowing Jeffrey to stand before the counter and place his hands on the table, palms flat open. He saw Jason pale, noticed the stiffening in the other man's posture as the man finally notice who was standing before him, but Jason held up a hand, gesturing for -- silence? -- even as he continued speaking into the phone.

"No, I'm afraid I can't get you next month's Raiden and Raina comics, Bri. What do you mean you'll take no for an answer? Didn't you hear? I'm being kicked out of my shop. That's right, next month there'll be no more Whacked Beat. Why? Why don't you speak to the asshole yourself?" With that, Jason offered the phone to Jeffrey.

Jeffrey raised a questioning brow, and Jason only scowled, daring him to speak to whoever it was on the phone.

Grinning the bravado he was far from feeling (he was actually feeling butterflies in his stomach, he didn't know whether to choke Jason or kiss him hard), Jeffrey didn't remove his eyes from Jason's as he said a defiant "Yeah?"

Minutes later Jason's grin was wide and malicious as Jeffrey fought the urge to squirm and disappear into the floor. Finally, he slammed the phone down. "You didn't tell me Brian Littrell was a regular," he said.

"He likes his comics, and I import them for him," Jason said simply.

"I want my grant back."

"This store is mine," Jason said.

"It's never yours," Jeffrey started to say.

He should have known from the way Jason's knuckles tightened into an alarming shade of pale on the tabletop. "No!" Jason said, half-yelled actually. "This is my store. I work for it and I made it the way it is today. What gives you the right to take it away from me? It's my store, my store -- "

"Hold it, hold it," Jeffrey cut in, realizing that three pairs of startled eyes -- browsers in the store -- were on them. "Calm down, Jason, control yourself."

Jason only pointed his finger at Jeffrey and stabbed hard at his chest. "It is not fair. Not fair."

"Keep saying that and you'll believe it eventually," Jeffrey said, and at once felt most churlish and cruel when Jason only crumbled and sat back on his chair. "Look, there's no point in keeping that grant," he said, kinder now in his pity. He understood defeat and helplessness, he really did. "I already have documents signed by Daniel, and the store is now officially sold to some fat happy Japanese who want to build a shopping mall over this lot. It won't take much for me to get back that grant. I'll just need to call the cops and you'll lose."

Jason only looked at the tabletop, unmoving except for the severe clenching of his fists.

Warning bells rang in Jeffrey's head, as he remembered Daniel's off-hand remarks about Jason's 'state of mind'. Jeffrey always thought that Jason had too bright, too beautiful eyes. "Jason? You okay?" he asked softly.

"It's my store," Jason only said. "It's all I have."

Jeffrey sighed. "I'll buy you a new store," he said. He blinked -- why the fuck would he say that? "I mean -- yeah, I'll get you a new lot and you can restart all over."

"I don't have enough money to pay you back," Jason said. "I never have enough money."

That Jeffrey could believe.

"I want this store," Jason said stubbornly.

"Give me the grant," Jeffrey countered. "You don't want me to call the cops. What will your mother say?" The last one was a wild shot, but to his delight and disappointment, Jason finally crumbled.

"Mom was right," Jason said in a flat, low voice.

"What's that?" Jeffrey asked despite himself.

"The grant -- it's at my place. I'll get it for you. Come to my place tonight."

He would bring champagne, Jeffrey decided. "Sure, where do you live?"

"What's this about you buying Jason's shop?" Brian Littrell asked.

He was waiting in Jeffrey's office by the time Jeffrey came back from Jason's shop. Jeffrey didn't have to ask how the man got in here. His own secretary would be no match for this man, who sat calmly at the guest's seat in all fucking arrogance as if he was a visiting monarch or worse, he owned this office and was about to kick Jeffrey into the streets. Fucking arrogant prick -- if people hadn't whispered that this man had mob ties, Jeffrey wouldn't be so polite.

"I acquired his store recently," Jeffrey stated. "It isn't his shop. Daniel Behr owned it, and he sold it to me six months ago. Jason was given ample notice that he was to move out of the store by the end of the month."

"Then where will I get my manga comics?" Brian asked.

How the hell should Jeffrey know? "I have no idea," he told Brian.

"Look, Jason is a bit unusual. A bit strange in the head," Brian said after a moment's quiet. "His mother always said it was some twisted way of fate to punish her for abusing booze and drugs while carrying Jason, but I don't know. That guy is mildly autistic, lives in own world, and his mental condition has puzzled quite many psychiatrists. But one thing's for sure, he's fucking genius when it comes to art. Have you seen his work?"

"I don't know him that well." Only just fucked him, that was all.

"You read Hero?"

That silly gay clone of a GQ magazine? "Not really," Jeffrey answered, taking his seat. "Look, I'm a busy man. Is there any point to this, or are you just going to intimidate me?"

"I like Jason. And I will be pissed if he doesn't import me my staple of manga comics and anime videos. I'll buy the store from you. How much? I'll double whatever you've been offered."

"Does Jason know about this?" Jeffrey asked, fascinated despite himself. He was also slowly becoming jealous, he realized. He wanted to rip this arrogant bastard to pieces.

"He's a nice man. A bit slow, a bit dim at times, but I like him."

"You could easily import those stuff yourself," Jeffrey said. "You just want to keep him in business. Who is he to you? A lover?"

Brian grinned at Jeffrey most insolently. "No," he answered simply. "I'm just looking over a fellow lost soul in this city, Nordling. Jason can use some guardian angel. You see, his mother was kind to me once, and I will repay my debt to her by watching over her youngest son. Did Jason mention how he took over the shop after he flunked high school? We all thought it was crazy, but that boy actually showed that he could pull it off after he learned the ropes. Daniel never cared for the shop, but he was happy enough to take the 60% of the monthly income. He even promised Jason that he would transfer the shop to Jason when Jason reached 30 years old."

Jeffrey didn't know what to say. He knew Brian was deliberately baiting him, manipulating him into feeling sorry for Jason. A part of him he never knew he had, the heart, actually bled slowly now that he remembered Jason looking at the floor, unmoving, refusing to believe his defeat. Or how he walked back and looked though a window after he'd left, to see Jason burying his face in his arms. He had hoped Jason wasn't crying then. He hoped he himself wouldn't weaken now.

It was business, pure and simple. Nothing personal.

Jeffrey closed his eyes and felt wearier than he ever had in his life. He was forty-two, he felt four hundred years old.

"Life's a bitch," he said in false bravado. "Maybe Jason should learn that firsthand."

Brian's face showed no emotion as he made to stand up. "Maybe you should know Jason better before you make pronouncements like that," he said in lethal quietness.

"I will," Jeffrey said.

"And do be careful, Nordling," Brian said, his hand at the doorknob. "Don't hurt him anymore than you have already done."

THREE

"Here," Jason said. He placed the grant at Jeffrey's unmoving palm, and frowned as it fluttered to the floor, ignored by Jeffrey who was looking at him strangely. His own heart jumped and the blood in his veins surged in red-hot rush in response. Being the recipient of too few looks like that in his life, he nonetheless knew by instinct when a man was looking at him desirously.

And he was nervous. He didn't understand it. He had rented You've Got Mail as soon as he closed the shop, and as he inked his comic strip for Hero, he watched and studied and restudied the scene where Meg Ryan's character easily got duped by Tom Hanks' character. Vowing never to be as dumb as that bimbo, he had decided to be strong in the face of his enemy's attractiveness. Oprah had a guest once on her show, Dr Barbara de Angelis, a relationship expert who said that good looks weren't everything -- it was the man inside that counted. Jason bought all of Dr de Angelis' books and studied all her advices.

Now, he reran Dr de Angelis' advice (beauty was deeper than skin) in his mind again and again in a desperate attempt to gain the upper hand over his treacherous libido. It was hard, for he had had so few sexual encounters in his life, none that bore any meaning, and all ended with his humiliation in the hands of the careless lover. That memory of being held so close in an embrace and being wanted -- just wanted -- by someone who didn't even see Jason closely to know he was flawed, it was a palpable ache of a need in his heart. Now that he had a faint idea what that might feel like, it was even harder and more bitter to face, much less accept, his loneliness.

Now, Jeffrey only looked at him. Jason looked back, not knowing what was going on, but content to let the silent drag on.

Finally, Jeffrey spoke. And his voice ached with exhaustion and weariness, like the rest of him. The poor tired man, Jason's treacherous heart whispered, a simple act that threatened to break Jason's defenses.

"Why the fuck did you give your brother 60% of your monthly income?" he asked, demanded to know actually. "How could you run a decent business and still be so fucking stupid?"

It was all about the shop. Jason tampered down his bitterness. "I am paying him for the shop. In installments," he told Jeffrey. "I would have gotten Whacked Beat when I turn 30. Daniel said so. Mother said so."

"I'm sorry."

The admission startled both of them really.

"I'm sorry I didn't know how important the shop is to you. I can't change things, Jason, even if I want to. The shop is sold, and you will have to move out. I'll help you. I'll find you a new shop, and you can take your time to pay me back as long as you want."

"Like Danny?"

"No. The shop will be yours to run for as long as you want. I promise."

Jason shook his head. "No." He realized they were both still standing at opposite sides of the doorway. "Come on in."

The word no resounded like a cavernous toll in Jeffrey's mind, obliterating all rational thoughts or focus. All he knew was that he was losing Jason. The expensive champagne in his hand felt like a mockery of his hopes, hopes he didn't know he was holding out on his sleeves until now. He hated this feeling of his heart bleeding as many, many jagged pieces of hurt pierce its core, and he hated this weakness of his with all his ability to hate.

He picked up the grant from the floor, hating that piece of paper virulently. It was all he could do not to tear it to pieces. His mind did a quick calculation -- what a breach of contract would cost him and his company, and how he would meet that. His rational self was screaming that he was throwing away his reputation as well as a large chunk of his bank account on this crazy whim.

A whim? Anything, Jeffrey told himself harshly, anything to even flirt with the possibility of no more sleepless nights and -- bliss -- no more fear of shadows.

"I'll give you your shop," he said. "What will you do to get it back? For real. I'll even transfer it to your name."

"Anything," Jason said, looking uneasy, as if he sensed Jeffrey snaking in for the kill.

"Good. I want exclusive use of your body, and in return, I'll give you your precious Whacked Beat."

FOUR

Jason Behr never thought himself a James Bond type. Not in this way at least. As he studied himself in the mirror, he wondered what Jeffrey saw in him that made the man demand that Jason whore himself for Whacked Beat. Even more puzzling, what was it with Jason that made Jeffrey happily court lawsuit and lose almost a billion bucks in deal -- that was what Fortune reported -- by burning the agreement he made with Danny?

Danny wasn't happy and was threatening to sue, that was, when he got his own act together first (good luck, Danny). Jeffrey's shareholders weren't happy, and there were talks of Jeffrey stepping down from his position.

The sheer lunacy of what Jeffrey was doing staggered Jason. He eyed himself critically, and saw, as usual, a sullen-looking, pale boyish man who still faced problems when he tried to watch an NC-17 movie at a movie theatre. A man who could be called handsome, but the four guys he had slept with, not counting Jeffrey, in all his life all lost interest soon after because they couldn't understand him. He couldn't understand them either, but it was they who always did the walking out.

No one had done what Jeffrey did for him, and Jason didn't know whether to be flattered or shocked at such lousy business decision. Still, the whole event made the whole whoring thing palatable, even romantic really, and Jason found himself looking forward to having Jeffrey for a while and Whacked Beat permanently ever after. He liked the idea of sleeping with Jeffrey, and it was time he kick back and enjoy some wild sex.

He adjusted his bow -- it was one of those easy-stick bow ties -- and sniffed himself discreetly. Jeffrey asked him to put on this cologne, which the man said was his favorite, and Jason thought it was pretty nice too. Not too heavy or sickeningly fragrant -- just right and masculine smelling too, if there was such a thing. Jeffrey was taking him out to dinner at some posh restaurant, and Jason couldn't wait.

Jeffrey Nordling handed his resignation to the CEO personally and looked forward to a life of bankruptcy. His only regret was to cut short his admittedly immoderate lifestyle, regret because he'd like Jason to experience those luxuries he'd squandered thoughtlessly before with him now. Last night, he thought he dreamed of Jason looking at him in approval and admiration as Jeffrey took him to places he had never been and they did things Jason could only watch on TV or read about.

Alas, he wouldn't be able to afford this sort of dinner for long, he thought. And his regret wasn't for himself, but Jason.

They had a wonderful dinner. Jason didn't stop talking about (a) the craters of the moon, (b) how wonderful the new arcade beat-'em-up King of Fighters 2000 was, (c) the possibility of time travel according to Einstein's theory of relativity, and other strange, bizarre tangents Jeffrey couldn't keep track of. And as dinner progressed, Jason spilled wine, caused peas to spill all over the table, used the largest spoon for ice cream, and announced that he'd prefer their next date be at Burger King.

He also watched, not knowing what to think, as Jason slipped a saltcellar into his jacket pocket, all the while talking as if his hand had a life of its own.

He couldn't remember the last time he had laughed so hard. He even found himself contributing to Jason's inane chatters, drawing on his own fantasy and science fiction novel addiction to theorize various ways time travel and teleportation could be made possible.

Now, as they walked to the car park where Jeff's car was waiting, Jason was walking way ahead of Jeffrey in that fast pace Jeffrey was fast getting used to. He had his hands spread wide like Goofy emulating Jesus, and he turned to look at Jeff, a laugh from his lips escaping freely.

"I had a great time, you know. I mean, I'm supposed to be your dumb, silent sex toy, but I really am enjoying myself. No one has ever listened to me babble so long before," Jason said in infectious exuberance. "Do you like Kate Bush?"

"Not really," Jeffrey answered, charmed.

"How about Roxy Music?"

"Not after Brian Eno left."

"I thought they got better after Eno left. Like Avalon. You know."

"Over-melodramatic sap," Jeffrey said.

"Rubbish!" Jason turned, his arms still spread open, and laughed again. "See? There's a full moon. Surprise I can see it -- New York air sucks." Jason closed his eyes and started to sing. "Some expression in your eyes/Overtook me by surprise/Where was I how was I to know?/How can we drive to a movie show/When the music is here in my car…"

Recognizing the song, Jeffrey continued with his awful tenor, "There's a band playing on the radio/With a rhythm of rhyming guitars/They playing Oh Yeah on the radio/And so came to be our song…"

"Oh yeah!" Jason hollered in worse off-key echo to Jeffrey's unforgivable massacre of the Roxy Music song.

"You're a nutcase, you know that? Jason Nathaniel Behr, you are a fucking lunatic!" But Jeffrey only lifted that man off his feet in his arms and swung the laughing man crazily until all strength left his feet and they crumpled painfully to the ground. And he silenced Jason's laughter with his kiss.

Jeffrey looked at the shadows, daring the hallucinations to show up. The demons, the unseen ghosts that tormented his nights, all the ghouls and demons that plagued him since he was a child, yet to be exorcised even after countless therapies, tonight they stayed in the shadows. Jeffrey knew they were waiting to pounce, always, but tonight, as he snuggled closer to Jason's naked body beside his, they kept far away.

And Jeffrey could close his eyes without reservations or fear. Jason was here, and the ghosts stayed away. He could sleep, Jeffrey realized, and he did.

He awoke with a cry, bathed in sweat, what seemed seconds later. A murmur from Jason told Jeffrey that he had awakened the man as well. "What is it?" he heard Jason murmur.

"A nightmare," Jeffrey lied. It was something dark and terrifying, cavernously hollow in its depths that threatened to suck Jeffrey in. Once, when he was a child, he thought he was going mad. Worst was he never able to remember what it was that haunted him. Night terror, he was diagnosed, and his father suffered from it too. The latter shot himself one day, unable to take it any longer. Jeffrey had fought the breaking point for so long, it was slowly wearing him down. One day he would lose it too, and that scared him more than anything.

"Nightmare?" Jason was fully awake now, judging from the excited curiosity in his voice. He lifted his head and rested his chin on Jeff's chest, the feel of his chin on Jeff strangely tender and sensual to the latter. "What is it? A big monster?"

"Something dark and evil. I think it wants me dead," Jeff said. "It claimed my father."

"Ah. There's a story in here somewhere. I think I have read about this before in some magazine while I was waiting at the dentist. Night terror, they call it. I think it's all about people scared of sleeping, yes? A phobia about being helpless in darkness or something like that."

"Uh, yeah," Jeffrey said, unable to tear his eyes away from Jason's animated face. So beautiful, so at home in the shadows Jeffrey feared so much. And the demons in Jeffrey's mind shrunk away from Jason's presence, allowing him to focus on this man who could be his salvation.

"So, is the monster big?"

"Very big."

"Fat?"

"Probably."

"Looks like Garfield the cat?"

Jeffrey burst into laughter. He couldn't help it, and he didn't know why he found himself laughing. And despite the shadows, he felt as if he and Jason were dancing in sunlight.

"I like it when you laugh," Jason said softly.

"I like it too," Jeff said, and ran his finger across Jason's kiss-swollen lips. "I like you. I like the way you make me laugh. Hush, don't speak. Let me." And he kissed Jason slowly, letting his lips graze lightly across the other man's lips. He felt Jason climbed over him, and he fell back, lifting only his head to deepen the kiss. As his hands moved along Jason's side, caressing every inch of that lovely, supple body, he spread his thighs and lifted his lower body even as Jason settled between him.

Then Jason's cock was pushing his flesh apart, the pain of penetration as well as the pleasure of it driving all thoughts of demons and ghosts from Jeffrey's mind. "Yes!" Jeffrey could only cry out in agonized ecstasy, and then it was Jason hard banging him all the way, and he could only hold on, gripping the man's buttocks hard, urging him on.

"I like this," Jason whispered later as he lay with his back pressed against Jeffrey's front, warm in Jeffrey's embrace.

"So do I," Jeffrey said.

"If you have nightmares, let me know. I don't think you want to face them alone," Jason said softly as sleep took him. He sighed and pressed himself closer, his body heat warming Jeffrey when nothing could. "I always wanted to be a hero, you know. Like James Bond."

"You're doing a good job. I could use some rescuing," Jeffrey said absently, breathing the scent of Jason, sex, and closing his eyes in trepidation. They waited in the shadows, but the ghosts didn't come closer.

And Jeffrey slept at last.

"I'm still mad at you for telling my mother," Jason told his friend James Marsden. He studied the pack of jellybeans, discovered that they contained the purple jellybeans he liked a lot, and added six packs into his shopping cart. He looked at his friend. "It's not nice you rat on me."

"Oh come on, it's a crazy plan. You're lucky he didn't send you to the cops. Instead he just force you to become his -- what do you call a male mistress anyway?" James, a boyish man who, unlike Jason, was brighter and sunnier in his mien, said.

"He and I are just dating. Until the two months are up and he'll give me back my shop." Jason smiled at the giant bag of M&M's he was holding. "Then the shop will be mine. Really, really mine."

At last, he would have something he could hold on to. It felt good, but he had a feeling no one would understand it if he said that it was okay he was sleeping with Jeffrey for the shop. He really wanted to do it, and even if he was forced to it, he enjoyed it, so he was okay with it. With that convoluted logic and self- justification to ease his mind, he concentrated on shopping.

James sighed and pulled a bag of Skitters out of Jason's pocket. Jason didn't even know he had pocketed that thing. For a moment, he started to panic -- for Jeffrey, he wanted to be like everyone else, and he didn't want to be like this, sometimes stealing things even when he had told himself he didn't want to and never would again -- and he had to take a deep breath and thought of the shop. And Jeffrey's visit tonight, which he promised Jason three days ago.

"You sure you can trust his word?" James asked.

"Yes," Jason answered. He never even considered otherwise.

"Bastard! I want my gun back!" Jeremy Northam said, crashing his cart into Jason's from around the corner. "That gun cost me three hundred bucks, authentic clone of the real thing, and there's only four more like it in the whole fucking world. Where the hell is it?"

"Uh." Remembering the water pistol he used on Jeffrey, he tried to remember where he put it. "I think it's still under Jeffrey's bed."

"Get it back. I want it back," Jeremy said. "Or I'll tell Al about that -- you know -- thing you stole from him."

"Oh Jason, you should stop stealing. Ever consider seeing a shrink?" James said.

"Yeah, go see a shrink," Jeremy chimed in testily.

Jason fought down the rising scream in his chest. "I think I have to go," he said as best as he could. His knees were shaky, and he felt as if the walls were closing in on him. "Excuse me."

Jeremy was moving his cart too slow out of the way.

"EXCUSE ME!" Jason screamed then, closing his eyes. "MOVE!"

Jeremy jumped, and stared as Jason pushed his cart in dangerous breakneck speed past him. A wheel crushed painfully over his right foot, but thankfully his shoe was thick leather.

"What did I say?" Jeremy asked, looking at James.

James looked after his strange friend sadly.

"What's the matter? You're pretty quiet." Jeffrey sat up and buried his nose in the gentle curve of Jason's shoulder. "I didn't please you, did I?" When Jason remained silent, the man's knees brought up to his chin, Jeffrey tried to kiss the man's neck. Jason only flinched. "Okay, I'll get myself a box of Viagra tomorrow," Jeffrey said.

Jason didn't laugh. He just looked far ahead.

Don't let me lose him. The way his body tensed and the way the cold seized hold of his senses startled him, and mentally he did a swift calculation: he still had twenty days with Jason.

"I don't know how to stop stealing," Jason said finally.

Jeffrey couldn't bear hearing that flat monotone so low, so defeated. "I'll let you know when you're stealing, and we'll put it back," he said carefully.

"Why can't I be normal?" Jason half-sighed, half-sobbed. "Maybe my mother is right. I'm not cut out to be like everyone else, and I should just go back to Maine and live with her and Uncle Fred. He's her boyfriend by the way. Nice man. Where was I?"

"You being normal."

"Yes. Why can't I be like normal? Like… like James?"

Jeffrey had no idea who James was. "You can't be normal, Jason. You're a special guy. No, I mean it in a good way. I mean, you draw." He gestured at the scattered canvases littering the bedroom table, chair, and floor, where Jason worked on his comic strip for Hero. "You're a brilliant cartoonist, you have all these great stories to tell -- you know what I think? I think you're an artist, not someone normal and boring like me and James."

"You think so?" Jason's voice was hopeful, desperately so. How could a man so easy to seduce and convince be also so reluctant to believe the best in himself?

"Yeah."

Jason placed his chin on his knees and looked far, far away, silent and his lips in a sullen pout. Jeffrey looked at the mirror across the room, and saw Jason looking back at him through the mirror. Jason in the dark unlit room, caressed by shadows, an ethereal sight, one that made Jeffrey wonder if he would ever be the same again, now that he had seen the most beautiful sight in the world.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Jeffrey repeated his answer.

"You're just saying it because you want a piece of my ass."

"Yeah, and also because I really, really think you're one hell of a guy. I've never met anyone like you, and you're funny too." Jeffrey ran his hand along Jason's arms.

"You don't think me buying all those junk food strange?"

Actually, no. "No," Jeffrey said. "You can be strange sometimes, true, but give me a minute and I'll see method in your strangeness, trust me."

Jason closed his eyes and let Jeffrey played his body, only fluttering his eyelids slightly when Jeffrey's mouth found his penis, and even at his climax, he didn't make a sound. It pretty ruined Jeffrey's mood.

FIVE

Days passed, and Jeffrey hated those days. Something changed; Jason was cold and distant, and there was nothing he could do to get the old Jason back. Jason was agreeable and cordial, but he was trying so hard to be normal he didn't say funny things like Jeffrey liked him to. Their lovemaking was polite, reserved, until Jeffrey thought he would go mad. He bought sex books and practiced everything, and Jason showed all signs of pleasure, but he never gave all of himself to Jeffrey like he used to.

One morning, as he was preparing lunch to take over to Whacked Beat -- he might as well be living at Jason's place, since he spent so much time there, and he found himself doing Jason's housework to pass the time -- he had a visitor.

It was pretty disconcerting to find Ben Affleck, one of the most powerful figures in corporate America, standing at the doorway.

Oh, it was nothing -- Jeffrey had been visited by several friends of Jason who wanted to make sure that he hadn't killed Jason and tossed the man's body in a garbage bag or something. There was the scary Kevin fellow downstairs who warned him that Jeffrey would be eating his own testicles if Jason showed any hint of emotional injury. Probably if Brian didn't get him first, and even then, Kevin would have to jostle for the privilege when a Jeremy guy who came to warn Jeffrey off. Protective nannies, that was what they were, but Jeffrey found it hard to be pissed at them. He now understood how Jason got this far without crashing and burning beyond repair, and he was grateful to them.

But he was pissed that no one considered that Jason might as well be the one to hurt Jeffrey instead of the other way around. It didn't take long for Jeffrey to realize that people had severely underestimated Jason. Sure, that guy sometimes carried out crazed plans of whimsy, like that insane breaking into Jeffrey's place, but that was because these people indulged Jason shamelessly. Jason was smart, and if that guy took a while to reach there, he would reach there eventually.

Jason actually successfully ran a business and negotiated himself a book deal with Andrews McMeel Publishing, who would be publishing his comic strips in book form. (Actually, Jeffrey heard that Jason in his usual bulldog tenacity hunted down Bill Watterson, told the guy he was a big fan of Calvin and Hobbes and how Watterson inspired Jason to draw, and passed some of his work 'accidentally' into Watterson's art case. Watterson called his publisher and Jason found himself an ardent supporter and fan soon after.) If one studied closely, what Jason wanted, he got in the end. The man was sneaky and manipulative.

Yet here Kevin, Jeremy, Brian, and God knew who else thought Jason a happy, cute lil' boy. Get real. They had no idea who they were dealing with.

"Not you too," Jeffrey said aloud.

"No," Ben said, correctly reading Jeffrey's expression. "I'm not here to talk about Behr. I think he's actually Machiavelli in disguise. I still have no idea how he talked me into lending him my Jaguar last year and then let him talk me into forgiving him when he crashed it beyond repair. Funny thing is, I knew he couldn't drive when I handed him my car keys. I think he's not as stupid or harmless as everyone says he is, and I say it's good for you for keeping that pest out of our way. Now, I'm here to talk about you."

He opened his briefcase and passed a file to Jeffrey. "Read it -- you have twenty minutes -- and tell me what you will do if you were the one in charge of it."

Jeffrey told him in ten.

"Good. They are right about you. I am offering you this job. If you pull off this one, you will have a more permanent position with me. Think about it. My offer of your salary, incentives, perks, et cetera is in that folder. If you want the job, fax me your resume and whatever the hell you usually send employers-to-be by the end of this week. Good day."

"Wait a minute!" Jeffrey looked at the crazy man. "You want to hire me?"

"Yeah. After you break up with Behr, by the way, which I understand is today? What you did, almost bankrupting yourself, is really stupid, but when Behr is involved, people do stupid things like lending him their brand new luxury cars, so I understand completely. When he's out of your life, I trust you'll be your old self again, which is what I need in my company. Any more questions?"

"No," Jeffrey said simply to the back of the man.

"I want my grant," Jason said, walking in the door that evening.

"This is the last day we have together and all you can ask if your fucking shop?" Jeffrey couldn't help but to yell.

Jason flinched but stood his ground. "You want to watch TV first?"

Jeffrey raised the fucking piece of paper and watched as Jason made a grab for it. Refusing to feel churlish, he lifted it out of the man's reach. When Jason made a wounded sound, he sneered. "What? You want your fucking precious shop? Damn it, how about me? You going to throw me out like that?"

"Give me my grant!"

Jeffrey deliberately crumpled the paper.

Jason screamed, falling back and his hands flying over his ears as he closed his eyes and screamed. "No! It's my store. My store. You promised,' he kept saying as he trembled.

"Get a fucking grip on yourself. You want to be normal, be normal. Straighten up and stop sniveling like a baby," Jeffrey said roughly. "Fuck it, look at me."

"My store. My store." Jason gave a wild wail when Jeffrey tried to hold the man's hand.

He had gone mad. Reality struck hard, "Shit, what am I doing?" Jeffrey cursed, dropping the grant and looked at the shaken man before him in horror. "What am I turning into?"

He sat down, seeing the ghost of his crazed father, unable to be calmed or placated by anyone, and saw Jason, on his knees and trying to smoothened the grant, looking through fear-filled, teary eyes at Jeffrey as he slowly retreated away. What had he done? Jeffrey asked himself again. A cruel bastard, an unforgivable bastard who seduced this boy and now hurt that boy out of petty malice.

"I'm sorry, Jason," he said brokenly, and flinched when Jason cowered, holding the paper close to his chest with both his arms protectively at the sound of Jeffrey's voice. "I'll never hurt you, you know that, don't you?"

Jason only stared at him in blankly.

Jeffrey closed his eyes, welcoming the pain and cold this time -- he deserved it. "I'll go," he said finally. "Goodbye Jason."

Jason didn't look up when Jeffrey walked out.

SIX

Jason frowned and rewound the scene where Jack and Lucy walked and talked into the night. While You Were Sleeping was his favorite romantic movie, much better than You've Got Mail, and he thought this movie was just perfect. He watched and repeated in his mind every loving line those two exchanged.

He was reminded of how he and Jeffrey talked.

He looked at the pile of videos at his side. All the romantic movies he loved were there, and he had watched every one until his eyes hurt, trying to figure out why he still felt the strange feelings he felt whenever he thought of Jeffrey. He had an idea after watching Jack proposed to Lucy at the tollbooth for the sixty- fifth time, but he wasn't fully sure.

He missed Jeffrey. Jeffrey was nice, kind, and he more or less understood Jason, and if he didn't, he was patient with him. He was just like Jack in the movie -- funny, nice, and kind. Only Jeffrey didn't want to give Jason back his store. Jason paused the TV looked at Lucy's smiling face critically. He could never be like those smiling stars -- he probably would say something stupid or accidentally steal his love interest's money.

The phone rang, and absently he reached for it.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi. It's me."

"Jeffrey." Jason straightened up.

"I just thought I'd let you know Kevin bruised my right eye and Brian my left. Jeremy almost make me lost my two front teeth, and your friend James -- nice lad, by the way -- told me he'd better not see me walking before his car or he will run me down."

"I'll tell them to stop." Jason wasn't actually listening to Jeffrey's words, only his voice. His place was too silent the two days after Jeffrey moved out. "Jeffrey? Why did you try to take my shop away from me?"

"I'm not. I was just mad that it was our last day together and instead of feeling as miserable as I was, all you cared about was your fucking bookstore. It was cruel of me, I'm sorry. I really am very sorry."

"I really love my store. It's the only thing I have that all's mine, and -- sometimes I say things in ways that seem wrong to people." Jason didn't know why he wanted to explain this. Jeffrey was supposed to be the bad guy here… right? "Nobody understands me."

"I can try."

Jason's heart beat triple time and his day seemed brighter at those words.

"Jeffrey?"

"I missed you, Jason. Look, the store's not the only thing that's all yours, buddy."

The room blurred. No, it was those tears in his eyes. Jason reached for a handkerchief from his pocket. "Jeffrey, I miss you too," he said. "I heard you got a job with Ben."

"Yeah."

"He's a scary guy. Not as scary as James' boyfriend Hugh, but -- look, my battery's running out. Can you drop by my place and tell me all about it instead?"

"You don't have a cell phone."

"Oh."

He could picture Jeffrey's smile. "You are a lousy liar, Jason," Jeffrey said gently. "See you in twenty minutes."

Jason looked at Lucy and Jack kissing on the TV and smiled. "I can't wait," he replied in all honesty.