THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Brian

Written by Lady Poetess
egiggles at moose-mail.com
/~bbp

Please do not reproduce on any website without permission. This
story has no resemblance to anyone dead or alive.


PROLOGUE

"Lovely night, Nightshade." The man known as Nemesis casually
pressed his automatic at the dead center of the thief known as
Nightshade's back of the neck. "Now be a good boy and drop that
disc back into the drawer."

They both knew Nightshade was two years older than Nemesis.

"I really need this disk, Nemesis." Nightshade's tensed posture
betrayed a twitch of nervousness, however - a slight tremor at the
shoulders that didn't escape Nemesis' sharp eyes. "It's mine by
right."

"What your quarrel with Jonathon Blacken is, frankly, I don't
care. What I care is that when you place the disk back, I will let
you go and we can both go back to our beds early and easy. Now be
a good boy and cooperate before I lose my temper."

"So, Blacken actually called the Nemesis to stop me, a mere thief.
I'm flattered." Nightshade turned, his hooded face shielding
everything from Nemesis' view but a strong square jaw and two
glittering eyes. "Very well. I'm calling it a day."

He made to pull open the drawer. In lightning-quick reflex he
turned and rammed the heavy metallic drawer into Nemesis' stomach.
The gun went off and fell across the room. Nemesis didn't even
make a sound - his hand reached into his shirt before the thief
realized it.

The tip of the blade in Nemesis' hand touched the thief's Adam
apple in deadly accuracy the moment Nemesis' own gun, in the
thief's hand, pressed at his temple.

"You don't want it to end like this," Nightshade murmured. He
winced when the blade pressed a shallow indentation at his neck.

"Actually, I don't care how this thing ends," Nemesis said flatly.
"I know you won't shoot me, and fuck it, I definitely will cut
your throat. Put the gun and the disk now. NOW!"

The hand holding the gun trembled for a blink of an eye.

"You're out of your league, Nightshade. You can't walk out alive
with that disk in your hand." Brian sneered. "You're a dead man
one way or the other."

"It's my disk. Blacken stole it from me. Look, I made this
program, it's mine. I just want - "

"I don't care."

There wasn't any sympathy from the most ruthless agent of the
nameless shadowy agency that did everything covert and ugly.
Nightshade didn't know why Nemesis was called into his trail, for
Nightshade was nothing more than a thief who stole back his
security programs from the men who destroyed his mentor's company
and absconded with the software. There was nothing to warrant the
attention of a man like Nemesis, whom word among the underground
had it had organized rescues of political prisoners in Third World
countries and killed people Uncle Sam deemed irritants. No one,
however, wanted to cross Nemesis.

But Nightshade had one trump card to play.

"Maybe we can make a bargain?" he offered, the fear in his voice
quite real.

"There's nothing you have that I want except the disk on your
hand."

Nightshade dropped the disk, close within his reach. Both of them
knew it. Nemesis obviously didn't anticipate it when the thief
casually held the hand holding the blade and lowered the hand to
his chest. Only a brief widening of those cold brown eyes revealed
the agent's momentary weakness. More telling was the ease at which
the thief managed to coax the hand to drop the knife. Nightshade
took a steadying breath and led the agent's fingers to the zipper
of his cat suit.

"Is this what you are offering?" Nemesis' voice was somewhat
raspy, as if he had just awakened from a trance.

His hand, however, wasted no time in pulling the zipper down,
revealing Nightshade's tightly muscled chest. And Nemesis' hand
separated the fold to reach in and gently knead the left pectoral
of the thief.

"I'm offering it, yes." Nightshade bit back a sigh of pleasure
when the agent's fingers squeezed hard.

"One fuck and I'll let you go, is it?" Nemesis' voice was that of
amusement, however. But his hand, that hand told a different story
entirely when it glided down the thief's stomach, pausing to knead
the well-defined stomach muscles and play with the thin line of
fur in the trail from navel down to his groin. "With the mask on,
I guess?"

"Yes." Too late, the thief realized the thickening of his accent
that might give him away, and the slow drowning of his logic in
the haze of lust the agent's rough exploration of his torso was
kindling. He pressed his raging cock to the other man's, lifting
his right hip over Nemesis' to give himself purchase as he climbed
onto Nemesis.

The aching need between his thighs burned when Nemesis' erection
nestled in its groove. He heard the agent curse, then he felt the
man's savage mouth on his, plundering his mouth, forcing his lips
to yield to the man's insistent tongue. Already Nemesis' buttocks
had tensed under Nightshade's palms and the agent's hips had
already started a short hard thrusting rhythm at the juncture of
their bodies. The man's cock was seeping so much fuck juices in
anticipation of their coupling that Nightshade felt the wetness of
that cock bulge soaking the fabric of his own trousers, right
there where Nemesis was grounding his cock at his anal opening.

A wild part of him reveled in the sexuality of this man, while
logic told him that Nemesis wouldn't let him walk out alive, even
after his submission.

He owed it to his mentor to escape this man.

The thought gave him strength. His one foot on the ground gave him
support as he shoved at the man with all his might.

"What the-" Nemesis lost his balance, and staggered.

Nightshade pushed - it wasn't easy, for the other man was heavy
despite his slim frame - and they fell forward toward the wall.

Something snapped, and Nemesis gave a choked gurgle.

The thief stood back and murmured, "Oh no."

Nemesis had fallen onto the model of a skyscraper Blacken had kept
in his office. And the model had given way upon impact. A long,
bloodied metal rod protruded from Nemesis' left shoulder. It
wasn't a clean thrust. Blood and torn ligaments seeped a hideous
stain on Nemesis' white shirt.

The thief gagged. Nemesis only eyed him silently, and the thief
felt rooted at the spot.

"Get the disk," Nemesis at length said, his voice noticeably
faltering with each increasingly staggered intake of breath. "Get
out of here."

The thief could only obey. As he ran down the cold empty streets,
he heard Nemesis' parting promise still ringing in his ears: "I'll
find you, even if I have to spend my life on it. And when I do,
God help you."

Only when he was in his car did he made an anonymized call to the
hospital.



ONE

The man known as Cousin watched as the young man charmed the
patrons of Club Abracadabra. Brian Thomas Littrell, in simple
office-hour white shirt, tie loosened around his neck, and black
crumpled slacks, looked exactly like a harmless office executive.
And with a guitar, he sang songs and easily swayed his listeners
into the magic.

And Brian had great rapport with these people. The crowd was
especially thick today, for Brian had just returned from a month's
recuperation from a heart attack. "Hey, play us some good old-
fashioned love songs, Litty!" someone called, and Brian smiled
boyishly, brighter than the neon lights of the club really, and
broke into a gentle rendition of Prince's Raspberry Beret - an
acoustic version the Purpled One would surely approve. The crowd
sure did.

It probably was true the rumor that recording companies had
practically begged Brian to sign up with them. Not that Brian
would. He, like Cousin, valued their anonymity too much. Killers
and assassins like they had simple wishes in life.

"Okay, before I go on, I really ought to thank you nice people for
the cards and flowers," Brian said, to which he was booed. Someone
threatened to kill Brian should he ever dared work too hard and
get another coronary.

They loved him, Cousin realized, not without some envy and
surprise. They really wanted him to sing here every Friday and
make their problems fade in that temporary moment of music. If
only they knew how good Brian could be in making problems fade.

"Cousin," Brian said half an hour later, falling into the seat
opposite him.

"Nemesis. You know why I'm here."

Brian ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair absently. "So
I failed. What's the problem? I agreed to do this Nightshade
affair only because for the papers. Success was never a
stipulation."

"Surely you're not that naive," Cousin said.

"No, I'm not. I failed. Too bad."

Cousin sighed and pushed the parcel across the table to his former
boss. "Here, the papers promised. With this, you can officially
burn your bridges with Control."

"Now who's being naive?" Brian ripped open the parcel and did a
quick perusal of the documents within. "They didn't pass me the
more incriminating ones, just as I thought."

It had been four years since Brian turned his back on Control, but
Control never actually let him go. Cousin suddenly felt weary for
Brian, for the both of them. "I wish I can do more," he said.

"Thanks. But I can do more." Smiling cryptically, Brian did a mock
salute and left the table.


TWO

One year later

A knock on the door reminded Enriquez Martin Morales of the play
that was about to begin. He took a deep breath and tried to still
his nervousness. Breathe, he told himself.

Brian Littrell frowned at the empty room. He placed one hand on
the desk and was about to leave when he saw a rather shapely jeans-
clad pair of buttocks under the desk. He coughed.

He was rewarded at the sight of those great buns tensing - and
felt the responding rise of his own cock in his pants. Damn, but
this stranger was giving him really obscene fantasies at this very
moment, and Brian hadn't even seen his face. Then the other man
eased his way out from under the desk, with a hard crash of his
head against hard wood on his way out.

So this was the new security software expert. The thin-rimmed
glasses on the man's Roman nose at first distracting, but he soon
noticed the man's clean-cut, if somewhat bland handsome features.
Bland, he thought with some disappointment. From what he heard,
this man had a car and he could use someone to drive him to work
every morning. His last boyfriend, a muscle-bound model, had been
dumped the moment the man's car went to the garage for a month's
tuning up.

"I need to talk to you about the shutdown of the security system,"
Brian said.

"Oh, that." The man crashed onto this seat and placed his feet on
the table, his scruffy sneakers almost touching Brian's immaculate
trousers at the left leg. "Shoot."

Fucking hell but the man was impertinent. Brian gritted his teeth.
"I want to know how long the system will be down. I have to deploy
the manpower before word gets out that we have no security
system."

"Oh, the system's up already. Ten minutes ago."

"Why am I not told?" Brian demanded.

"Why should I?" Ricky opened a can of Coke and took a hearty gulp.
"The Board that runs this museum, they're my number one superior.
Then Mr Fraser, your boss, he's my next in rank superior as it is
he who contacted Courtetron Securities and asked for me. Jeremy
Northam, the head of securities, comes third. You, being merely
the man Mr Fraser sent to assist Mr Northam, comes fourth. I'm
sorry but I am a busy man, as you can see. Writing out three
reports a day is my limit."

Brian blinked. Did that man actually say that to him? Loss of
equilibrium was something new to him. And he scrambled for some
leverage of control. "What work? Your computer monitor is dark."
Feeble, but that would do for start.

"This? It doesn't need to be switched on. The bulk of the work
done is in the supercomputer in which this monitor is just an
extension."

The rest of Ricky's jargon-laden explanation was lost to Brian,
for whom computers were used for nothing more than emailing and
websurfing. He gave an exasperated snort and make to leave.

"Hey, you leaving so soon?"

Ricky's words stopped him in his tracks. He turned. "Yeah?"

Ricky grinned, flashing straight white teeth that could make a
toothpaste company orgasmic. "How fast can you run?"

"Run?" Brian started to wonder if he had stumbled into some sort
of twilight zone.

"Yeah run. I'm a college runner. Held the '89 record for the 100-m
dash. How about you?"

"I don't run." That's the partial truth. His heart made it
impossible for push to push his stamina beyond his limits.

"Pity. I prefer a man who can keep up."

Brian sat down. He had to. "Are you coming on to me?"

"You can say that. Actually what I have in mind is nothing risque,
just some dates and you showing me around town. Anything beyond
that is strictly optional and on mutual consent." Ricky switched
on the monitor and Brian watched the monitor burst into life. "By
the way, there's a hacker trying to crack in."

"What?" Brian shook his head in a daze. Shit, the man switched
topics fast. "Let me guess - again, you didn't inform me."

"Actually my report's waiting in your email box. I take it you
didn't check your mailbox before you came here. Don't worry though
- I'm updating the software even as we speak. The hacker can try
again, but this time he would find himself facing a brand new,
never-seen-before Grade A Ricky Martin prototype."

"Really?" His skepticism must have shown on his face, because
Ricky's eyes narrowed slightly.

"At last count, three hundred of the three-hundred-and-fifty
largest private galleries of precious art in the world use my
custom-made programs, and the fail proof rate is at 99.6%. The
Interpol verified that, if you want to check. And thirty- three of
the fifty remaining ones have submitted Courtetron their request
for my services." Ricky's fingers flied over the keyboard.
"Believe me, Bri, when I say I am worth every cent of the $3.2
million your employers are paying Courtetron." Now the printer
came to life. "That's why the system is down, by the way - I have
to rewrite the whole thing to make my program compatible with the
hardware. It's almost done. now done." With a flourish, Ricky
pressed a key and turned back to Brian. "Half my job's done. Now
back to our date. What time shall I pick you?"

"Hold it." Brian raised his hand, then frowned at it. What was he
going to say again? "Why me? What the hell's going on?" A thought
hit him. "Did Jeremy set you up on this?"

"Well, he did tell me of your penchant for muscle-bound airheads.
I guess you'll jump at the chance of going out with a dark, Latin
gay guy for once. I mean, hey, if you're still not bored with your
Ken dolls, go ahead and forget that I ever asked."

Brian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "They are not Ken dolls."

"Whatever."

"Now see here!"

"I know. I'm rude and impertinent. But I'm good at what I do, so I
guess you'll have to bear with it. Hey, I'll bear your overbearing
terrorist-tactics in return." Ricky flashed another brilliant
smile.

Brian rubbed the bridge of his nose wearily. One heart bypass and
no one respected you anymore. Fuck it. "Okay. Pick me up at seven
at the museum front porch."

"Don't look like a martyr. I'm not asking for your virtue."

"We're not going to f-" Brian paused again. He gazed at the man
before him. Hell, he wouldn't mind fucking this man, he realized.
No, it wouldn't be any problem at all. The latent lust surged full
force again as he watched the man's hands on the keyboard, their
movements strangely sensual as they danced on the keys. And when
Ricky carelessly reached out one file for a file behind him, the
loose T-shirt stretched taut against his chest, revealing the
smooth well- defined contours of a well-muscled torso. And the
man's nipples were erect buds against the fabric, making Brian's
mouth water at the sight.

When Ricky reached for the Coke can just beside Brian, Brian's
hand reached out and closed around the other man's large hand. The
heat of the contact almost seared his senses into incoherence.

He was trying so hard to clear the confusing desires in his mind
that he missed the reluctant desire in Ricky's eyes or the man's
soft gasp of a man seduced despite himself. But when Ricky's hand
closed around Brian's tie and almost choked the man to death when
he pulled Brian across the desk, Brian came to life. He fell on
Ricky, and with a choked laugh, they both felt the chair topple
over, sending them crashing to the floor.

"You're right. Maybe it's time I try a Latin date," Brian said,
and rubbed his lips against the man's.

Ricky's mouth welcomed him, and Brian kissed him, letting his
tongue rub against Ricky's in a sinuous mating rhythm. He felt
Ricky's hands pulling his shirt out of his trousers before
reaching up to caress his back, and Ricky's hand on his fevered
naked skin only made him thrust his rock hard cock between Ricky's
thighs. He deepened the kiss even as his hips twitched, pushing
urgently at Ricky's anal pucker.

He wanted to so badly to plunge deep into Ricky and seared the
man's insides with his semen, marking that man like a territorial
mutt, in fact, that when Ricky pushed him away, Brian's first
instinct was to lash out at Ricky.

But he never hit anyone unless he was paid to do so, and since he
wasn't in the market, he never intended to even start. "Why the
fuck did you push me away for?" he snarled, driving his fist to
the floor hard. It wasn't as great a release as howling at the
moon in frustration, but it was something.

"Too fast," Ricky said, putting his fingers to his lips - they
came away with some blood and he looked at it dumbly. "I don't
think I..."

"I thought you're a college runner."

"Rub it in, will you?"

Brian stood up somewhat unsteadily and adjusted his clothes. As he
tightened his tie, he caught Ricky's look. "What?"



"Nothing." Ricky looked at Brian and noted somewhat resentfully
that the man didn't seem to be shaken by their near-fuck. The
man's breathing was pretty steady unlike Ricky's, which seemed
like a train derailed. That man probably got laid on his office
desk all the time.

Brian certainly looked pleased. In fact, the man was now smiling
rather stupidly, as if he was enjoying a private joke. "What?" he
asked, echoing Brian's earlier question.

"Pick me at seven," Brian said, tucking in his shirt and shutting
the office door behind him.

Ricky sighed. Shit, somehow his plan to throw Brian off-balance,
to make that man so irritated with him to a point that the man
wouldn't look too closely at Ricky's activities, had backfired. He
reached for the phone and dialed a number. Poor Brian - each time
they met, Ricky ended up playing him for a fool.

Guilt and anticipation warring in his chest, he waited until the
person at the other line answered.

"Mr Fraser? I have something I should better tell you."


THREE

"I want Enriquez Morales fired."

"No, I won't fire him." Brendan Fraser sounded amused.

Disgusted, Brian kicked at a pebble before him. "He has no respect
for authority."

"I take it he doesn't bow before you like everyone else." There
was clear laughter in Brendan's voice now.

"He's intentionally rude and he told me I'm insignificant in his
scheme of things." Brian realized that he was close to sounding
like a petulant brat. "And what do you mean? No one bows before
me."

"He told you that?" Brendan hooted. "For that, I'm upping his
pay."

"Well, I gotta go." Brian saw Ricky's simple battered car coming
from the corner. "See you." He cut off Brendan's answer and shoved
his cell phone into his coat pocket. He picked up his guitar and
waited. For the first time in a long time, he was looking forward
to a date. Funny - the man was rude and insulting, yet Brian found
nothing but amusement in his heart at Ricky.

Ricky, Ricky, Ricky. Their kiss had just inflamed his lust and
curiosity, and he darned well intended to further that kiss into
something more. For the fiftieth time in the hour he imagined the
great fuck that would have taken place if Ricky hadn't pushed him
away. And the painful throb in his groin only made him aware of
how long it had been since a man actually drove him this hard.

"Step into my parlor," he murmured when Ricky pulled up.



"So this is the apartment of the infamous Whip," Ricky said.

"What `Whip'? That's a stupid name they gave me. I'm just
Brendan's right hand man." Brian took Ricky's coat off him, his
hand sending chills up Ricky's spine.

Ricky thought of the name `Whip' - it was appropriate. He knew,
for it was an open secret, that the unassuming, quiet young man
was Brendan Fraser's most dangerous weapon. It was Brian who
spearheaded the instant cleaning up of an oil spill in the Pacific
Ocean when Brendan's tanker sank, and the fast action prevented
his employer from being sued billions and saved the company's
reputation. Likewise, many of Brendan Fraser's mishaps and
accidents that would cost any other men their reputations and
fortunes were repaired and covered up by Brian, and when heads
rolled, it was Brian who did the ruthless cutting down.

Brian was twenty-eight last June. Young indeed, but already his
appearance struck fear in many players in the industry even as
they tried their best to lure this man over to their camp. Nothing
Brian did was against the law, but he could bend them - a valuable
asset in a world where only the most mercenary survived. Yet Brian
was loyal to Brendan.

Ricky wondered if Brian realized how much Ricky knew of Brian's
past, that Brian wasn't a Harvard business grad he claimed, things
even Brendan didn't know.

"Coffee? Champagne?" Brian switched on the light.

Ricky couldn't help smiling. Brian's pad was that of a man who
obviously couldn't outgrow his obsession with childhood. A large
stuffed Garfield dominated the couch, huddled beside Donald Duck
and Winnie the Pooh. Pictures of Disney characters vied for space
on the ornate mantelpiece and on the wall. Car models and model
trains lined the cabinets. It was a perpetual toy paradise. "Wow."

"There's more in the bedroom. Care to see?"

"No." Ricky swallowed nervously. Coming in was a big mistake.

"You're still mad about Roy?" Brian sat beside him and placed two
glasses on the table. He switched on the TV, to a Bugs Bunny
cartoon. "I'm sorry he hissed at you."

"I'm not mad. Really, I don't get into cat fights over a man."

"Roy's nothing to me. He's just a guy who's just a diversion."
Brian bit his lip. That sounded callous even to his ears. "I mean,
we were just having some affair that is long over."

"Jeremy told me your boyfriends have come for the art industry
since Brendan assigned you here," Ricky murmured. "Mixing business
with pleasure. I salute you - the information you gleaned in their
beds must make your boss happy."

"I'm not taking anything that isn't freely offered, I assure you.
Look, if you want me to be exclusively yours for the time being,
just say so and I'll oblige." Brian reached close and his tongue
snaked out to taste Ricky's right ear. "I'll sleep with you. I'll
even let you stay the night."

Ricky's eyes darkened with desire, Brian noted with satisfaction,
but the man, fuck him, pulled away. "I said, not so fast," Ricky
said. "Please."

Brian gritted his teeth. He'd offered to spend the night with
Ricky, hell, something he hadn't done with anyone before. He'd
even offered his monogamy and stud service exclusively for this
man. What more did Ricky want? "Fine, we'll go slow," he conceded.

He stood up and blatantly adjusted his erection before reaching
for the answering machine. Ricky sat back and listened to the
various messages. Brian's family sure demanded a lot of his
attention. Ricky counted two messages from uncles asking for a
loan, an aunt asking Brian to convince her son to take up
business, the son calling up to ask Brian to tell the mother to
back off, and several call-back-urgent messages.

Brian reached the end of the tape and calmly discarded the tape
into the trash. "The Littrell Help Center," he told Ricky. "They
have been calling even after I tell them I'm not going to run
their lives for them. Fucking lot, the whole of them. They never
even send me a card during my stay in the hospital, and they still
expect me to give them money?" A part of him wondered why he was
telling Ricky this. "They think I'm the Solve-It Energizer Bunny."

"I don't blame them. You are a capable man."

"Any smart person with a brain would be." Brian sat back on the
couch and shut his eyes. "Look, maybe you ought to go. I'm pretty
tired all of a sudden."

This was his chance to escape. Yet Ricky looked at the man, and
felt his heart weighed. He had seen how people reacted to the
silent charisma that Brian, unwittingly perhaps, radiated. When
Brian walked in a crowd, people moved away without thinking,
because Brian was. well, scary. Something about him wasn't stable,
there was always an element of danger behind Brian's calm, brown
eyes. And Ricky was afraid too, yes, but he was also attracted to
the danger. And now, to his dismay, he realized he was just as
moved by the tired, vulnerable human barely visible under Brian's
tight control.

He really shouldn't, but he placed his palm on Brian's forehead.
Normal, no fever. "Maybe you should meet my family in Puerto
Rico," he murmured.

"They're still there?"

"Mum and Dad wouldn't want to come over, while my brothers and
sisters have their families there. They love dancing and music."

Brian kissed the man's fingertips. "Maybe one day you'll take me
to visit them."

"Maybe." Ricky couldn't breathe, not when Brian was so close, this
close that his body heat burned Ricky. He couldn't give in, not
when there were already so much between them. "Brian, I -"

"You won't hurt me."

"What?" In a daze, Ricky watched Brian place a finger on his lips,
and he could almost taste the man's skin.

"I know you have secrets, Ricky. And it's okay. They won't hurt
me." Brian smiled, the smile crooked and rakish. "I'll let you
keep them for now."

"I never meant to hurt you." Brian was in the way. Ricky reached,
then hesitated. His hand was over exactly where Brian bore the
scar when the metal rod went right through. He recalled the man's
feral words, and he couldn't help it: fear seized him at the
thought of being at this man's mercy. Fear and a heavy surge of
arousal.

He felt mouth on his navel. "Bri?" he murmured, looking down. When
had Brian manage to unbutton the lower half of Ricky's shirt? Then
Brian was there, tasting the soft skin of his stomach, his tongue
gliding and licking the soft supple skin while feeling the hard
muscles underneath. And when Brian's right hand lifted to Ricky's
belt buckle, deftly unbuckling the belt, Ricky didn't resist.
Brian only murmured something incoherent as he lapped at Ricky's
navel, the tongue dipping shallowly into the groove, as his hand
hooked into the waistband of Ricky's briefs and pulled both
trousers and briefs down his thighs. His penis stood hard,
throbbing and jutting straight up, only inches away from Brian's
cheek as he made his way down Ricky's body. Then Brian's lips
hotly closed over the tip of Ricky's cock, the tongue making
circular swirls around the slit and the mouth sucking at the clear
salty fluid droplets already seeping from it.

It wasn't fair for this man to service him. "Brian, please.
Turnabout's fair play."

Brian's mouth reluctantly left him, and they both sighed at the
loss, simultaneously. And it embarrassed him as it embarrassed
Brian to realize that. "I have a feeling this is going to be great
between us," Ricky couldn't help saying, his heart beating like a
nuclear reactor in meltdown as he watched Brian unbuckled his belt
and pulled his zip down. Brian's thick cock was already throbbing
in eager anticipation, and when Ricky greedily sucked it down his
throat, he felt Brian's mouth on him again.

On the couch, in a tangle of limbs, they fed each other's mouth
greedily. Brian was on top, and he couldn't help grunting softly
with each rough thrust, the pleasure of the friction of his cock
crown rubbing against the smooth, wet roof of Ricky's mouth almost
unbearable. His damaged heart sang along with each increasingly
closer plunge to his climax. Ricky too was losing control, his
hips buckling up, almost throwing Brian off with each upward
thrust, and Brian sucked, swallowed the leaking semen, and reveled
in the scent of Ricky's sex in his senses.

Ricky never noticed, and Brian hoped the man never did, that a
stray tear flowed down Brian's right cheek even as he gasped and
spilled his climax into Ricky's greedy mouth.



"It would feel better, much better, I assure you, if we come up
each other's asshole," Brian murmured as he nuzzled Ricky's sweat-
soaked hair three nights later. They lay on his great coat that
was their makeshift bed on the grass and Brian gazed at the night
sky. "Much better."

It was stupid the way he held his breath, waiting for Ricky's
answer as if it was the most important thing he would ever want to
listen to. It wasn't. Ricky was just a temporary diversion, like
all the others. But, his heart acknowledged where his brain
daren't, somehow Ricky had done something no one else had.

Ricky made him feel. He hadn't felt anything remotely resembling
human emotion in years, except when he was singing in Club
Abracadabra, but Ricky, sweet dear Ricky, Ricky made him laugh.
And Ricky never treated him like a scary bulldog. Letting his
guard down and laughing more than he ever had in his life were
novel traits in his life.

He didn't know how to deal with it. For once, he wished he was
good with words like Mike or Ethan or Jeremy, he wished he could
offer poetry and make Ricky laugh like the way the man make him
laugh.

"Don't rush things, please," Ricky said softly.

Brian willed himself to turn away from the stars and to Ricky. He
hoped his hurt wasn't showing in his eyes. "Why? You want me, I
want you, why can't we fuck?" He trailed his finger along Ricky's
back, once again marveling at the softness of Ricky's skin, soft
yet so strong in the muscular tensile strength.

Ricky turned to his side, exposing his front nude body to Brian.
Brian felt savage pride at the sight of the red bruise at Ricky's
left nipple, made by Brian's overeager lips, and the stray trickle
of Brian's semen at the corner of Ricky's lips. He wanted Ricky to
be marked as his in any way, in all way. His sperm swimming in
Ricky's systems would be the ultimate possession, and Brian's cock
leapt to life at that image.

Mine, he thought as he pulled Ricky over him. "How long more?" he
demanded even as pulled Ricky's lips down to his.

"Two weeks." In two weeks his mission would be done and they would
be free to start again or not.

"Two weeks," Brian repeated, not liking the length, but for Ricky,
he would wait. He was good at waiting, hell, he had been waiting
for Ricky all his life.



FOUR

"I can't do it. I won't lie to him anymore," Ricky told the man at
the other end of the phone.

"You have no choice," Brendan Fraser said. "We have everything
riding on you, not only the museum, but Interpol and Comtech. You
can't back out." He softened his voice. "Ricky, Brian will
understand more than you'll think. In a way he's used to intrigue
and betrayals."

At his office, Ricky shut his eyes in pain. Brian was used to
being betrayed. He told Ricky one night as they lay on his Scoody
Doo bed, that he had learned since young never to expect anything
above minimal from anymore - everyone would disappoint eventually.
Poor Brian. Ricky was one of these.

"Very well," he said to Brendan even as his heart broke into a
million pieces. He was a bastard, the lowest of low. Perhaps he
should just walk out of Brian's life.

A part of him was serious when he told Brian he would love to
introduce the man to his family. Logic told him that he had to be
mad to be attracted to a former man who arranged assassinations
and carried out a few himself, among other activities that no one
else would do. But damn logic - Ricky believed Brian when he said
he would never hurt Ricky, and he believed when Brian told him of
his past, his sins, his crimes. Yes, Brian told him his secrets,
making a nonchalant display out of it.

Ricky knew, if Brian didn't yet, that Brian's telling him of his
darkest secrets was damning evidence of Brian's falling in love
with him. And that cut him deepest, because he couldn't see how he
could repay Brian's na<ve trust with anything but betrayal.

He put his head into his hands and wept.



"I'll come in." Brian placed his hands at each side of Ricky's
head as the man bent to place the key in the doorknob. "I've never
seen your place before."

Ricky stood up and found himself enveloped by Brian's quiet
strength. "Sure? It's still pretty empty."

"More room for us then." Brian pulled a bottle of champagne from
his coat. "Let's put this in ice."

Ricky's blood burned. "Two weeks are up," he murmured.

"Oh yes."

Ricky swallowed, and stopped hesitating. One night. They deserved
one night, and the morning after be damned. Brian was already
casually unbuttoning Ricky's shirt one by one, even though they
were still standing on the front way. "My neighbor is an 80-year
old woman. If she sees us her heart would stop," Ricky hissed,
fumbling at the doorknob.

Brian's answer was the unzipping of Ricky's trousers.

The door barely closed when Ricky, his shirt hanging loose and
open on his body and his trousers falling to his ankles, found
himself pressed against the door. He steadied himself, spread his
legs, his asshole already puckering with lust. Fuck foreplay -
Brian tore at his zipper and when his cock sprang out, he spat on
it, and rammed the slick shaft up Ricky's heated anus. Ricky
howled at the penetration, lifting his hips and slamming his
buttocks into Brian's crotch, begging the man to shove it deeper.

Each hard pump sent loud slapping sound of flesh meeting wet
flesh, in rhythm with the thudding of Ricky's body hitting the
door at each thrust of Brian. Then Brian's mouth was at Ricky's
neck, then the ma actually sank his teeth gently at the nape, and
Ricky lost it. He shuddered, groaned, and clawed into the door as
he came, his semen gushing from his raised balls along his stiff
throbbing shaft to spray heavily into Brian's waiting hand. Then
Brian was pulling out, and he swiftly spread the semen on his hand
along his cock, slicking it until it was glistening with a coat of
lubrication, then he roughly penetrated Ricky again.

"Oh fuck, Bri, have mercy," Ricky gasped, clinging to the doorway
weakly when Brian's rough pumping resumed. He lost sense of time
or space, everything but the glorious sensation of that big thick
cock shafting him again and again and again. Brian's breathing was
harsh, and he was making soft obscene oaths as his speed
increased. He was practically slamming his groin, each thrust
resounding in loud wet crack as his pubic bone rammed at Ricky's,
the savage impact cushioned by Ricky's hard yet taut buttocks.
Then Ricky felt Brian's cock thicken with semen surging along that
shaft, spreading Ricky's anus even wider, and when Brian lifted
his groin, then rammed in hard and down a steeper angle, that
thick cock crown jamming right past to roughly nudge Ricky's
prostate, Ricky had his second white hot and cataclysmic climax.
If not for Brian's holding him still, he would had fallen to the
floor.



Ricky watched the silhouette of Brian bathing in the shower two
hours later. He had made up his mind as to what to do. Brian's
slim body, an enigma in itself, fascinated him. The man followed a
strict gym and exercise regiment to keep his heart in working
condition, but he had never allowed his body to attain the muscle-
carved perfection everyone aspired to have. "Are you crazy? First
rule of being a spy is never to look like a spy," Brian had said.
"Get a muscle-bound body and I'll look even more fucking scary."

"You're scary enough already," Ricky said, and Brian laughed.

"You think I should get a better body?" he asked when he could
stop laughing.

"No," Ricky had answered truthfully, a part of him amazed at how
easy he made Brian laugh. "I like you the way you are already."

Now, he had to break Brian. He walked and pushed open the shower
stall door.

Brian, beautiful Brian, his body slick with shower foam, turned to
him. His smile didn't change when he saw the tears in Ricky's
eyes, but his eyes darkened into inscrutable darkness. His words
threw Ricky off-guard. "So, Nightshade, you want to tell me
everything? `Bout time," he said gently.

"You knew?" Ricky whispered.

"Always. The moment I kiss you. The moment you kiss my scar as if
you are sorry and would walk fire to make it up to me two hours
ago." Brian lifted his right hand to Ricky.

Ricky took it. "And you sleep with me? Why?"

"Because it doesn't matter to me what you did in the past. I know
about your stealing back your things from the men who cheated your
mentor and caused him to kill himself. I applaud it, in fact.
Ssh," he said when Ricky made to speak. "Once I told you your
secrets wouldn't hurt me, Ricky, and trust me, they don't."

"I'm sorry." Ricky's voice trembled. "I'm so sorry."

Brian sighed and pulled the man into his embrace. "There, there,
love. Just be grateful I'm not like other men, for then I won't be
so forgiving." Ricky didn't even chuckle. The man was heaving as
if he was crying tearlessly, and Brian couldn't stand that. He
made Ricky face him and tried to smile his brightest.

"I should've told you. I never should've lied to you."

Because he heartily agreed, Brian tried to switch topic. "Look,
let us finish this shower, get some hot chocolate, you tell me
everything, and we watch the cartoon network `til morning, okay?"

Ricky nodded, and Brian kissed him.


FIVE

The Interpol's trap didn't work. Rick's security code convinced
the notoriously infamous art thief Billy Zane that he had
succeeded in breaking it, and when he stepped into the museum dead
of night, security was there waiting.

"But he managed to escape, though rumor has it, not before kissing
Jeremy right on the mouth," Brian said with a laugh. His ran his
fingers lazily through Ricky's hair as the man placed his head on
his lap.

He was laughing more these days. In fact, he was actually happy.
Now all he had to do was to convince the man with him that it
didn't matter that Ricky had lied. Brian didn't care, hell, to be
honest he had no clear concept of what right or wrong was. All he
knew was that this was the right thing, Ricky was the right thing.
But how to put all those in words?

He looked down at Ricky.

Taking a deep breath, he cleared his throat, and asked Ricky,
"Would you like to go to Disneyland with me?"