THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB Duncan 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. ONE "You sit down and don't try to move or anything." Duncan James adjusted the rear mirror of his battered Toyota. "You're lucky I'm a nice man. Any other bounty hunter would've pumped a clip into your ugly ass." The handcuffed man, tied around the legs and gagged in the mouth, predictably didn't say a word. "All set to go?" Dunk didn't wait for the man's angry muffled curses. He chose instead to answer his call as he drove. "Mom?" His mother always called at the most inconvenient times. "That sound?" Dunk gave the guy behind an ugly look. One more kick in the backseat and the man would be toast. "Just some dog barking. Yes, it's still daylight here, so we can talk. Business is good. Sales are hitting the roof." It was an old story Dunk had perfected. To his family back in Manchester, he was a successful sales manager over here in America. Why should he want to disappoint her? She sent him over here to her brother when Dunk was ten and minus a father, because Dunk was running wild. Dunk would hate to break her heart by letting her know that he was a bounty hunter consorting with the very low-lives she sent him here to get away from in the first place. Soon he became so used to his lies that he began telling everybody in England that he was a sales manager. He knew shit about bills of lading or letters of credit, but he was a pro with pugilism and some simple firearms. Somehow he didn't think people would respect him for that, though, and if it was one thing Dunk wanted more than anything in this world, it was acceptance and respect from the posh bastards Dunk always envied and wanted to be. He had the looks. His dimpled grin and roguish airs could get him accepted into posh circles if he wanted to, but that way would be via the bedroom window, and he didn't want that. It wasn't respectable. The best way was by making lots of money and becoming one of them. If he was patient, he might catch enough bond- breakers in the next twenty years to get enough money. "Sure, Mom, I'll visit this Christmas. Did I tell you I was the top salesperson in the company? I'll be getting a big bonus." Oh, he was lying right through his nose. Shoot, really - if he was a bad son, well, at least his mother would sleep easy. Ignorance was fucking bliss. Dunk placed his socked feet on his oaken work desk and switched on his battered computer. He rarely spent his hard-earned money except on the really necessary, and he still wore the same clothes that he had three years ago. Hell, they still fit, right? His sole purchase of extravagance was this heavy and sturdy table more suited to a sophisticated office rather than Dunk's cramped and small rented apartment. But Dunk liked the table - he saw one just like it in a photo of some millionaire's office. Frowning at the amount of spam in his mailbox- maybe he ought to give those spammers a surprise visit, hell, he might even get a medal for his ridding the world of these bastards - he became very trigger happy with the delete button that he almost deleted an email from dear Lee Ryan. His spirits lifting considerably as he opened the email, his smile was instinctive as well as habitual. Dear Lee - the Englishman found Dunk one day by virtue of a mistyped email address a year ago, and they had been exchanging emails ever since. Lee was funny, Dunk gave him that - Lee's emails were always filled with droll and acerbic wit that provided the perfect boost for Dunk's evenings. Of course, Lee assumed that Dunk was a sales manager. The man was a sales manager too, and it was from Lee that Dunk learned of the phrase "bills of lading". But while much of Dunk's exterior was made-up, his emotions and feelings that he expressed in his emails were real. He couldn't help me. Lee became his punching bag, shrink, jokester, and partner-in-crime, even if Dunk had to make up imaginative twists to fit his apprehensions into the life of a "sales manager". But today, Dunk cursed when he read the email from Lee. "Shit!" Who was the jackass that made pens this sharp, he wondered as he sucked on his bleeding thumb where the pen punctured it in his shock. "Coming down to NYC for weekend. Let's get together and compare how much we have been bullshitting each other this whole year. Lee." Fucking hell. Fucking, fucking - oh shit - hell. TWO "I had a pen pal when I was thirteen or so. It turned out that he wasn't a fifteen-year old football captain but some skinny, geeky weirdo with bad breath." Tobey Maguire sighed. "My first brush with disillusionment," he concluded as he rolled the dice. "Damn." "That's my property. Hotel - let me see, that will be $400." Jeff Timmons then turned to Dunk. "Everybody lies to pen pals. It's a cosmic rule. Who knows, Lee is probably some weirdo you will want to ditch at first sight." "Lee will never lie to me," Dunk growled. "Don't be pathetic. Jeff, that's mine. $350 please," said Gale Harold. "For all you know, Lee could be straight. Or worse, some curious straight guy who is all trade and will not want anything more than you sucking his dick." "That's unnaturally bitter for you," Jeff commented. "Speaking from experience, Gale?" "Guess. Anyway, Dunk, meeting pen pals is never a good idea. It's disappointment waiting to explode in your face." Dunk refused to believe that. Lee would never lie, he told himself stubbornly. He handed two hundred dollars to Tobey, who had just passed go. They were playing Monopoly, using real money. Dunk was appointed the banker, though, which was good because playing a game like this could easily put him back a few grand that he never had. Instead, he just watched the game and handled the $18,000 the other three members handed over before the game. The object of the game was to see who would lose all their $6,000 first. It was a sick game in Dunk's opinion. But these guys were so rich, six grand was probably their daily lunch money. Dunk would have resented these guys if they weren't so nice and accepted him as one of them after he helped Gale caught an ex-partner who was embezzling from him. If Dunk had cleaned up his accent and unconsciously took on the manners and body language of these guys, they never commented on it and Dunk never told them of his morning ritual of practicing his speech and educated accent before the mirror. He never told them that he was jealous of Jeff's vast collection of old 60's records, Gale's collection of vintage wine, and Tobey's acceptance into any social circle. Dunk wanted to be one, or all three, of them bad. "Anyway, if I'm Lee, I'd be happier to meet a dangerous-looking, rakish bounty hunter rather than a boring sales manager," said Tobey. "With your dimples and eyes, you'd knock over this guy in no time." "Don't let Wes hear that, or he'll hurt me," Dunk said as laughter erupted from the table. Tobey was a genuinely nice guy, although Dunk suspected that sometimes there were thoughts in Tobey's head that would shock people who perceived him as an always nice guy. Tobey was sleeping with his polar opposite, wasn't he? Gale, on the other hand, looked like an aloof and proud rich toff, but he was actually even nicer than Tobey, with an apparent inability to muster up a temper or malice. Jeff could be cruel sometimes, but he never meant any harm. Unlike Tobey and Gale, Jeff was an easy-going rich bum who viewed life as a perpetual playground for him. Maybe these men weren't typical of the upper class strata, although Jeff might fit the stereotype, but they were the only links Dunk had to that elusive strata. It occurred to him more than once that Lee, the son of a senior partner of the international law firm Thompson, Marriott, and Associates would fit in nicely with Tobey, Gale, and Jeff. Dunk would never fit into Lee's world, even if he badly wanted to. Maybe he ought to put up some excuses to avoid meeting Lee, like his instincts told him to. But he couldn't obey himself even if he wanted to. Every part of his being was humming with anticipation at seeing the very person who had brought him the best moments in his life, and he found himself balking at the very notion of seeing Lee from afar, anonymous. He was finding it hard to say no to Lee even when Lee was a faceless, anonymous stranger. No, not a stranger, he corrected himself. Just someone he wasn't prepared to lose yet. "Tell you what," Gale interrupted Dunk's thoughts. "I'll lend you my penthouse." Dunk gaped at him. "What?" Surely he couldn't have heard Gale correctly. "Yeah, my place. Orli and me are going away for the weekend, so you can play around with my place with Lee. Sleep with him, work up an excuse to break up with him, and then get on with your life. (Tobey, $500.) Just don't touch my miniature railroad track and my collection of wine, and we'll still be friends after this weekend." "Uh, thanks." "That's very generous of you." Tobey said aloud what Dunk was thinking. "Hey, that's my hotel!" Jeff exclaimed. "Too late, I've already rolled the dice and left your scrummy hotel," Tobey told him. "Fuck you. $400, Tobey, now." "Get the keys from me at my office this Friday, lunch time," Gale told Dunk. "I'll also tell you the maid's schedule, et cetera." "Gale, I can't possibly - " "Yes you can," Jeff told Dunk. He eyed Dunk from head to feet. "You may have to lose those clothes too. Mine can't fit yours though." Jeff's shoulders were broad enough to tear the seams of Dunk's shirt, not to mention the man's powerful biceps. "Tobey?" "Yeah," Tobey said, eyeing Dunk's waist dispassionately. "Shirts and T-shirts from me, no problem. But there may be a problem with the trousers, unless you put on an extra inch or two in the next few days. Collect some stuff from me on Thursday evening at my place." "Get Biehn to loan you a few," Gale suggested. "He won't," Tobey said. "Yes he will. Just ask his guy, Richard nicely. If anyone can talk that flaming queen Biehn into handing out freebies, it's Richard," Jeff said. "Oh hell, let me do it. Richard still owes me $300 from last week's poker game, and I'll waive that if he'll get Biehn to lend out a few cool pants." Dunk could stare at the three men. They had an expression on their faces akin to bored rich men playing a game of making a monkey the Cinderella of the day. Normally Dunk would be pissed off that he was the object of their amusement, but right now, he was eager to play along too. If he could have Lee for only a weekend, he would make sure it was the best weekend for them both. THREE Lee Ryan was nervous. He was doing something he had never done before - safe, predictable Lee was meeting a man he only knew from his emails. Dunk was a charming man whose occasional insecurities and gutter language made Lee laugh as much as Dunk's irreverent but insightful outlooks in life. This was it, then. No doubt after this meeting, he would either be very good friends with Dunk or he would lose Dunk. Either outcome would mean a change in the status quo Lee held dear. But Lee was tired of being safe. He wanted more with Dunk. He liked stability in his life, but at twenty-five, he was bored with the predictable and safe men who would only fuck him on weekends. Dunk, despite his job as a sales manager, was wild, exuberant, and irreverent to social rules. That was the impression Lee got from the man's emails. Having never met anyone like that, Lee became fascinated and eventually enthralled by Dunk. He made up fantasies, imagined what Dunk looked like, and even wondered how Dunk was as a lover. Hence, today. What did Dunk look like? Where was Dunk, anyway? Lee looked around the airport. Dunk knew what Lee looked like - Lee had sent the man a JPEG scan of his photo a few months back. Since Dunk kept writing, Lee assumed that he wasn't hideous to Dunk. Wait, surely that man wasn't Dunk. Lee couldn't imagine a sales manager looking like that rugged-looking bloke who seemed to be everything mothers of the world warned their children against. Dimples from heaven, a body made to sin, and - Lee checked discreetly - a butt to die for. "Dunk?" he squeaked. "The one and only." Dunk's grin was pure carnal invitation that sent shivers up Lee's spine and a burst of heat down to the very root of his cock. Dunk's eyes gleamed - the man liked what he saw in Lee. "You look great." "So do you," Lee managed to say, albeit in a breathless way. He worried a little - Dunk was too handsome, too attractive, and hence too dangerous, and Lee's old habit of wanting boring safe men resurfaced briefly. But he couldn't fight the devastating attraction of Dunk's sinful good looks and the way Dunk was looking at him as if Lee was everything Dunk wanted. Lee wasn't that good-looking. He was the epitome of the boy next door, a far cry from Dunk's looks, a poster boy for rogues from the bad and dangerous to know department. "You don't look like a sales manager," he said lamely. "How does a sales manager look like?" "They usually wear glasses," Lee said stupidly. He wore contacts. "I can wear one," Dunk murmured huskily, and Lee shivered in delight. "Oh, my manners. I'm not usually this rude," Lee told him hastily. "I hope jet lag and nervousness are an adequate excuse for my boorish behavior." He was just caught off-guard by Dunk's appearance, an understatement if that was one. Dunk lifted the heavy bag Lee had been struggling with as if the bag was as light as feather. Lee watched as the biceps of the other man strained in a way that resonated with pure virility. "Why, Lee, I don't think there's much I can't forgive you for. Shall we get some bite?" Bite me, Dunk. "Okay, sure." Dunk slipped his free hand into Lee's, again catching the man by surprise. But Lee squeezed back reassuringly, and with their fingers intertwining each other's, this, Lee thought, this was the most correct feeling he had ever felt in a long time. How did they end up here? Lee closed his eyes as he pressed his cheek onto Dunk's hard-muscled chest and listened to the rhythm of Dunk's increasingly rapid heartbeat. The sound of Dunk's coming alive to him almost drowned out the soothing vocals of Chris Isaak from the home stereo system blasting in the background. They huddled on the couch, Lee acutely aware of Dunk's erection bulge pressing against his thigh. He didn't do anything, yet, because he was trying to collect his thoughts. Dunk made him feel alive, as well as uneasy, as it wasn't just the man's looks. This afternoon, Lee was admiring a very expensive watch at Phoenix's, and later, Dunk would pull one out of his pocket. A gift to Lee, he said. When pressed, Dunk admitted sheepishly that he had shoplifted the watch. How did one shoplift a watch from a high- security store just like that? "You're not mad, are you?" Dunk had asked. No, Lee wasn't. He was actually quite flattered. No one had stolen anything for him before. A lot of things about Dunk didn't gel. The man was unlike anybody Lee had met. Dunk didn't look streetwise, he was streetwise, as he pointed out the seedier side of lower New York to Lee. Then there was his language, a strange mixture of charming Manchester gutter and upper New York polish. It was as if Dunk was two different people, Jekyll and Hyde minus the schizophrenia. If Lee wanted unpredictable, he had one in Dunk. Yet, more potent was this lack of urgency, just this tranquil solace they found in each other's company, just lying here like this. Lee let his hand cup Dunk's erection, and he heard the man's soft groan. His fingers caressed the shape of the Dunk's pulsing cock through the fabric - Dunk, naughty man, wasn't wearing underwear - and even as he was stunned at the dimensions, he was already letting the tip of his tongue moisten Dunk's lips, dry with lust. Maybe it was too soon, but when Dunk's mouth hungrily claimed Lee, Lee didn't care anymore. If losing common sense was to learn of this man's strengths and weaknesses to strengthen the strange and alien feelings in Lee's heart, so be it. Let him be without common sense. Let him - "I love you, Lee," Dunk whispered huskily. "I've been for so long now. Can I fuck you?" "Yes you may," Lee answered just as quietly, as if they were afraid to break the silence of their heavy breathing. How could he be sensible at the onslaught of these words? He felt light and he could walk on air and sunlight. He watched, they both watched, as he pulled down the zipper of Dunk's trousers. That cock stood up erect from a heavy thatch of fur, with thick veins pulsing with blood that suffused that cock into glorious erection. Lee let his index finger run over that smooth engorged crown, feeling the smooth, silky muscle made slick and moist by the copious droplets of clear lubrication oozing from that thick slit. "Dunk, if you love me, you'll get rid of anyone else in your life and fuck only me," Lee told him between urgent kisses. "I won't share you with anyone." "Nobody important in my life right now, except you," Dunk answered. Lee unbuckled his trousers as he kissed Dunk's Adam's apple and pushed apart Dunk's now-unbuttoned shirt. Dunk's nipples were lush and erect, and Lee just had to taste and nibble on them. His fingers touched Dunk's perfectly formed pectorals and the hard- ridged stomach, smooth and powerful, and he loved it, he loved Dunk. And he cried out in joy and pain as he spread his thighs and sat down on Dunk's cock. He felt the crown stretch his anus like nothing ever had before, and the tearing pain was excruciating for a few seconds, before Dunk ruthless tore past and filled him to the hilt. Staggering explosions of indescribable pleasures wracked Lee in powerful waves, and he convulsed into a series of orgasms that crested over him in consecutive surges. "Dunk!" he cried as his fingers dug into Dunk's shoulders, drawing blood. "I'm coming, oh, I'm fucking coming!" It seemed another lifetime later when he finally felt the pleasure ebb, and when his breathing stabilized. Only then he realized with shock that Dunk was still hard and throbbing inside him. And Dunk was slowly crying. "Dunk?" "I lied, Lee," Dunk sobbed. "I'm so sorry, but I lied. This is not my house, and I'm no sales manager, alright? I wanted to tell you, but I don't want to lose you. I'm just a fucking bounty hunter, alright? I'm so sorry. Oh fuck, I'm so sorry!" Dunk reined in the loud sob of his and turned away so as to not look at Lee. "Please, just get off me and hit me." "No." Denial, fury - all made Lee only dug his fingers harder, drawing a hiss of pain from the other man. "Damn you! Damn you!" he yelled. He didn't care. Damn this man for making him lose control, only to confess his lies. Damn the fucking asshole! "Lee?" But whatever Dunk wanted to say, it faded into a moan as Lee began riding that cock hard. Dunk's hips began moving with the rhythm. Lee didn't care for the pain that crested in him as they began pounding at each other so hard that Dunk's buttocks lifted right off the couch with each upward thrust, and their bodies met with a loud hard wet slap of thudding flesh and crack of colliding pelvic bones. The orgasm caught Dunk in a powerful surge of seminal explosion that had him spewing out what seemed like every drop in his balls into Lee's scorched anus. And Lee convulsed in that another glorious series of tiny little deaths that added up to one fiery climax. They held on as Dunk pumped the last of his ejaculation into Lee and Lee slowly returned to earth. "I love you," Dunk whispered brokenly. "Lee, believe me, please." "I know." Lee touched the man's lips with his finger. "We'll start again. You, me, and. oh, did I tell you that I'm transferring here? I'm going to live here, in New York." "Can I live with you?" That sounded pathetic, but oh, what the fuck, really. "So you're a bounty hunter. Guns?" "Yeah. And I'm a good one too." "Tell me about it." And Dunk did.