THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Rhys

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

There was something odd about Jonathan Rhys-Meyer today. It took
Hugh Jackman a few minutes to realize that Rhys was actually
smiling today. Rhys never smiled in the five years Hugh had seen
the man practically being an indentured slave to his father's
debts, but today the man was all smiles.

Rhys had a beautiful smile, Hugh realized with a start. The smile
wasn't beautiful in its appearance as much as the emotion it
conveyed. Always a quiet and withdrawn man, Rhys' appearance was
borderline beautiful and repulsive, and the man's almost prismatic
blue-green eyes seemed to be able to cut into one's soul. If one
took apart Rhys' features one by the one, the eyes would seem too
far apart or too flat, the nose too long and narrow, the lips too
wide, and the face too angular. But combined, Rhys was
mesmerizing. Not exactly beautiful, but it was a face one wouldn't
forget easily, especially with those brilliant, mysterious eyes.
And today, when Rhys smiled, he made Hugh's own lips curl upwards
in response.

"Good morning, Rhys," Hugh said, getting onto his feet as Rhys
closed the door behind him. This was Hugh's way, and he would sit
only after Rhys had done so.

Rhys just reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a check. He
placed it before Hugh. "The last two hundred grand my father owed
you, Hugh." He gave a wild, exuberant laugh. "I'm free now. I'm
finally fucking free." He tossed another envelope onto the table.
"And this is my resignation letter, Hugh. I don't owe this company
anything anymore."

Hugh silently took the envelopes. There were only a few years
separating the two men, but Hugh had become protective over Rhys
over the years. James always teased him that he had a soft heart
under his tough exterior. "What will you do now?" he asked Rhys.
He wouldn't ask Rhys to stay, because he knew Rhys spent five
years working in a job he never wanted in the first place just to
pay off his father's debts.

"I don't know," Rhys confessed, his lilting Irish accent still
strong despite his years of living in New York. "I've waited all
these years for today, but now, I just don't know."

Hugh had followed how Rhys' father bankrupted himself in a series
of bad business decision, and how Rhys had to be the one to solve
the family's financial situation. Over the years, Hugh had learned
that while Rhys had a business administration degree, the man's
first love was mechanics, judging from the man's activities on
campus and off-campus during his university days. Hugh never
pried, but he could only imagined how much Rhys gave up to take
this job and to see his life past as he made up for his father's
mistakes.

"I have an offer from several engineering firms and toy
companies," Rhys said, confirming Hugh's suspicions. "I don't
know, I'll look over them later. I just want to go home and... I'm
free, Hugh, I'm free!"

Hugh had to laugh at the man's childish exuberance.

"You know, Hugh, you're alright," Rhys said suddenly. "I never
think you as bad as all the rest."

"Thank you," Hugh said simply.

"Anyway, I have to go. See you again, well, whenever." With a
vague wave, Rhys bounded out the door.

Hugh watched after the man, bemused. Rhys was this animated
before, and there were times when he thought the man incapable of
emotion. But now, hell, Rhys was completely changed, a new person
even. Who would've thought?

Feeling lighter in his heart, Hugh started to resume reading the
documents before him. He caught himself humming the tune of the
new Nickelback song, and he couldn't help it. His hearty laugh
gave the people outside the second surprise of the day.


ONE

Timothy Maxwell Adams recognized a fellow inventor's handiwork the
moment he saw the door. The door looked like a door, but his eyes
detected the subtle improvements made to the door. He grasped the
door handle, and noted that it was redone to improve the grip. He
touched the door, and noted the level of the peephole and - he
peered into it - the improved visual through the use of an altered
glass piece.

Fascinating. Maybe this blind date wouldn't be such a dull affair
after all.

He tried to remember what his friend Thomas Gibson told him about
Rhys. "He's the only other guy I know who could take apart any
device and explain how it works under an hour. Come on, Tim, you
need to get out more," Thomas had said.

He wondered what this Rhys would think when the man saw Tim for
the first time. Tim knew he didn't look like what people thought a
physicist looked like. They usually felt more comfortable with
Thomas, who looked like a comfortable version of a stereotypical
handsome nerd. Tim, with his strapping physique, looked more like
a construction worker. When he wasn't in his lab or in his
personal workshop, he spent a few months each year performing
extreme sports.

"Rhys?" The man that opened the door wasn't what Tim expected. Tim
felt heat exploded in the depths of his stomach as he gazed on
what seemed to be a borderline repulsive/mesmerizing face. Rhys'
nose was too long, those lips too fleshy, the eyes too flat and
far apart, and the face too angular and bony, but put together, he
looked, to Tim's eyes, like a fascinating tapestry. Whether Rhys
was beautiful or ugly, one would never forget that face. The most
beautiful of Rhys was those eyes, too bright emerald eyes that
seemed to lure the unwary to drown in their limitless depths.

Tim looked down the man despite himself, and swallowed. Rhys was
thin, almost painfully so, but clad in simple white shirt and dark
trousers, he exuded such raw virility that belied his lanky frame.
Tim yearned to run his fingers through the short dark sandy hair,
to plunder those lips, and to ram his aching cock in the depths of
Rhys' quivering heat - mouth or asshole, he wasn't picky.

It gratified and reassured him when Rhys ran a trembling hand
along Tim's chest. The other man's face had taken on an expression
of being struck by uncontrollable lust that he couldn't contain as
his hand, apparently on its own accord, squeezed over Tim's right
nipple. Tim groaned, and pressed forward so that his throbbing
erect nipple could leave an imprint on Rhys' hand.

"Tim?" Rhys breathed, a low, almost monotonous baritone that Tim
found irresistible.

"Yeah. I'm your blind date," Tim whispered. His hands caressed
Rhys' cheeks and he bent his head forward for the kiss he needed
so badly. "This is crazy," he admitted.

Rhys slowly let the tip of his tongue trace Tim's lower lip.
"Yeah," he said breathlessly. "I don't usually act like this."

"Me too."

"You're kidding," Rhys breathed as his hands touched and
discovered Tim's well-muscled shoulders. "I bet you have lots of
people throwing themselves at you."

"But I don't want them," Tim said smoothly, "only you."

The piercing whistle interrupted them. Rhys laughed as the spell
was broken, relieved actually, and Tim joined him. He was relieved
too, for the intensity of this instant attraction unnerved even
him. But there was also no hiding the disappointment in him that
this magic ended so soon. They would rekindle it before the night
was out, he vowed quietly to himself. He had his share of men and
woman - too many, some would say - but he knew something good when
he saw it. And Rhys, he realized instinctively, was good.

"That's my coffee-maker," Rhys said with a clear of his throat.

"Can I see it? I made mine such that you can improve the quality
of the blend."

"Hey, me too. What did you do? I took out the motor and..."

Tim listened and chuckled as they began exchanging tips and ideas.
He closed the door behind him. Here they were, talking as if they
were old friends, when only a moment ago they were close to
fucking each other's brain out. Who would've thought?



"I'm sorry we missed dinner," Rhys said as he watched Tim try to
put back the radio Rhys had made so that it could receive almost
every transmission in the Northern hemisphere. "I know it's not
easy getting a reservation at Le Chatelaine."

"This is better," Tim just said, looking up from his dissection of
the radio. "Okay, damn it, I give up. Tell me what you did to this
baby."

Rhys grinned. He had never felt this easy with anyone before.
Sure, he could communicate with people, but it took a conscious
attempt on his part. As his equally shy mechanically inclined
friend Greg Lee told him, he was a shy guy who just happened to be
very good at pretending to be gregarious. Since he quitted his
job, it was bliss just being alone and not having to wheedle,
flatter, and bargain with other people. But with Tim, his words
came out naturally, and he even touched Tim easily, and Tim let
him.

Sure, he'd lovers before, but he was just as reticent with touches
as he was with words. But Tim's banked desire in those eyes
encouraged him, and even now, Rhys let his fingers run absently
along Tim's powerfully muscled upper arm. Tim was a classically
rugged man with strong square jaw and light brown hair, and with
his physique, he could only be described as a stud in every virile
implication the word offered. The shirt and trousers fitted Tim
like second skin, and there was always the way Tim's crotch seemed
to stretch the fabric to the limit the same way his arms and thigh
muscles did that implied that Tim was powerfully muscled...
everywhere.

Even now, they were both very aware of every button loosened in
the casual atmosphere. Rhys knew that Tim's eyes never missed how
his shirt lifted slightly to expose the waistband of his Calvins
when he bent over to reach for the screwdriver. As Tim moved his
arms in his dismantling the radio, Rhys noted heatedly how the
man's muscles moved fluidly underneath tanned supple skin, and he
had to clamp his thighs urgently as he almost came on the spot in
imagining the fluid motions of Tim's thigh muscles as the latter
heaved and thrust between Rhys' thighs.

Oh, they would have sex tonight. Soon, maybe later, they were both
deliberately playing it slow just to prolong the pleasure of
anticipation. And also because they really enjoyed this, the
simple act of discovering the other's shared joy in taking apart
and putting back together things.

Tim revealed that he made his father very angry when he was ten
because he pulled apart his father's lawn mover, and he laughed as
Rhys related how he caused the school lab to burn down in a too-
ardent experimentation of raw potassium with water. They told each
other anecdotes and jokes and memories, good and bad, with their
toolbox and laptop devices, that Rhys could easily imagine that
the last five hellish years of his life was just a dream.

Somehow, as they talked, they had moved closer to each other by
instinct. As the last chuckle from Rhys' lips died, they both
found Tim's lips just inches away from Rhys'.

"I'll try to take it slow," Tim murmured as he touched Rhys' lips
reverently with his thumb.

"Don't be slow with me," Rhys said. "I haven't touched anyone for
so long, I want it raw and hard tonight. I need to feel alive.
Please." He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to the back of
Tim's hand.

"We're talking about sex, right?" Tim asked nervously - nervously!
Jesus, he had never been nervous in sex and dating for a long time
now.

"No, cookery." Rhys smiled crookedly, a smile that made him
indescribably beautiful in Tim's eyes. "Don't be gentle with me,
Tim. I'm a big boy, I can take anything you got."




TWO

Rhys screamed in maddened pleasure when Tim raped his ass savagely
with each brutal thrust. His hands wildly touched, squeezed, and
raked every hard-muscled flesh he could find purchase, and his
moans and obscene curses were guttural sounds to his own ears.
Never been this aroused before, he screamed again as yet another
explosion of fiery climax ripped his being apart.

Tim was virile clothed, but nude, he was enough to drive Rhys
incoherent with lust. That obscenely huge and thick cock should
have ripped him apart with agony, but Rhys instead climaxed so
hard the moment the wide cock top speared through his pucker.
Every hard brutal plunge of that cock sent another red-hot spear
of pleasure up Rhys' spine, and after just ten minutes, he thought
he would go insane from the insurmountable pleasure. One hour
later, he was screaming for mercy, begging for more, and biting
and licking every part of Tim he could find. Determined to hurt
Tim as much as Tim was hurting him, he made his anal muscles clamp
Tim as hard as he could, until Tim howled with pleasure, his
foreskin threatening to be torn apart each time he withdrew, so
hard as a vise was Rhys' tight anal embrace.

Tim's cock only hardened and lengthened as the blood in his cock
veins rushed with the surging semen in his tubes, and he thought
his cock would burst when the scorching jets of his orgasm spurted
out of his burning urethra to flood Rhys' rectum. Their moans and
curses blended with the wet sounds of their slapping flesh and the
harsh rhythms of their breathing, and as Rhys convulsed in another
climax under him, Tim thought that he had never found anyone this
responsive to his fucking.



That cocksucker was fucking good, Tim thought as he tightened his
fingers into a bruising grip on Rhys' head and let loose his spunk
into the man's voraciously sucking mouth. He deliberately made
sure that he pressed his cock head against the roof of Rhys'
throat so that Rhys couldn't swallow, instead forcing his spunk to
flood and spill out of the man's mouth. Rhys gagged, but his eyes
told Tim that the man was enjoying this. What a slut. What a
fucking perverse slut Rhys was to enjoy cleaning Tim's soiled cock
after their initial wild fuck and then sucking Tim back to full
hardness until Tim had to fuck the man's mouth.

He pulled out of Rhys' mouth roughly and kissed the man hard,
tasting and sucking blood, come, and ass juices from Rhys' mouth.
Rhys made a hungry sound, not wanting to relinquish his dessert,
so he too sucked and swallowed as much as he could. Their tongues
met and mated, and soon Tim was pushing the man back down on the
bed, and even as they kissed and tasted each other, his once again
hard cock was pushing its way up Rhys' well-educated asshole.

"You call this rough?" Rhys taunted as he clawed on Tim's
buttocks, urging the man on. "My swimming coach was rougher than
you, and he was fifty when he fucked me."

"Shut the fuck up!" Tim shouted, violently jealous of the thought
of anyone doing what he was doing to Rhys, that glorious slut.
"You want rough? I'll fuck you rough."

"Yeah?" Rhys gasped and managed to continue only after his sudden
climax. "Yeah?" he said weakly. "Big talk, nancy boy. I could
barely feel your tiny dick."

Tim growled, wracked in his powerful climax, and his hands
tightened around Rhys neck, but not enough to hurt. "Slut. Whore.
Bitch."

"What tired compliments. Think of something else to call me, will
you?" Rhys mocked when he could control his breathing.

Tim grinned, but there was no mistaking the fire in the man's
jetty black eyes.

"At loss for words?" Rhys taunted, answering laughter in his eyes.
"How about cicisbeo? Narcissus? Endymion? Ganymede?"

"What the fuck are those?" Tim asked despite himself.

"Why, legendary gay tempters of history," Rhys told him. "I
tempted you, didn't I? I'm a fucking hero."

"Yeah you are," Tim said with a sigh of pleasure. "Slut."

"And you love it."

"Naturally." Tim rolled off the other man and headed to the
bathroom.

Rhys casually followed, enjoying the feel of Tim's sultry liquids
coating his inner thighs and making his slippery flesh rub each
thigh. "So, how was it?" he asked through the glazed glass door.
Damn, even Tim's silhouette looked good. "Was I good enough for
you?"

Tim didn't answer, but Rhys heard the water being turned off. He
smiled when Tim opened the door.



"Now do you believe me?" Tim asked, kissing Rhys' chest lazily
later.

"Oh yeah." Too sated to do anything but to enjoy each other's
warmth, Rhys let Tim cuddle him closely so that he was cocooned in
Tim's powerfully muscled body, Tim's right thigh and arm pinning
him to the bed. He loved the feel of Rhys' half hard cock tip
pressed against his ass crown, and he occasionally clenched his
ass so that his ass pucker would caress Tim's sensitive tip. "And
do you believe me?" Rhys asked back.

Tim nodded. "The first boy I fucked burst into tears and told
everyone I was a brutal monster," he told Rhys. "I was known as
the monster all through high school. Those who wanted to fuck with
me did so because they wanted to be hurt. Others tried not to be
even in the same room with me."

"But you're okay now," Rhys said, turning around so that he could
face Tim. "And I loved it when you play rough."

"I can also play it gentle," Tim told Rhys, begging the man with
his eyes to believe him. "I can be slow and sensual, too. I've had
years to refine my control, and if I was too rough previously, or
if my obscene words scare you..."

"I love it when you call me those obscene names," Rhys told him.

"I can do gentle."

"I like it rough as well as gentle."

"I can do gentle," Tim said urgently, too scarred by his
experiences to take Rhys' words at face value. "I can be gentle
with you," he repeated as he began kissing Rhys to prove it. Rhys
willing accepted him, and as Tim this time made love to him gentle
and slow, and they both collapsed in a heap of breathless
laughter, Rhys saying, "Yes, yes, I believe you, you wimp!", Tim
believed Rhys.

"This is the best blind date I've ever had," he told Rhys
sleepily.

"That's because I let you fuck me on the first date."

"No." After all, there were many who'd let him fuck them on the
first date too, not that he'd tell Rhys that. "I think you are the
other half of me."

Rhys snuggled close and smiled, his eyes closed. "A year ago that
will have sent me running the other direction."

"But now?"

"I think that is what I need to hear so that I can sleep easy
tonight."

Tim nodded and kissed the man's forehead.

"Thank you, Tim," Rhys muttered sleepily. "You have no idea what
you did tonight to me. I... I..."

"Tell me tomorrow morning," Tim urged Rhys. "You're tired, Rhys,
so sleep now."

Rhys nodded, and in each other's arms, they slept.



THREE

Rhys watched his mother sleep on the rocking chair. Estelle didn't
recognize him at all today, but he had long learned to cope with
Alzheimer fast ravaging his mother. He still hurt, but he had
learned to cope with the pain, as he had with the disappointments
in his life. But today, he had to tell her, even if she would
never remember.

"Mom, I'm sorry I never made true on the promises I made you," he
said softly as he rested his chin on his right fist. "When dad
lost his business and you pawned everything you have for my
college fees, I promised that I will buy them all back for you. I
promised to buy you your own place, take you on the world trip you
always wanted, and pay for your flower arrangement classes. I'm
sorry I'm too late, mom." He bit his lower lip until he could
taste his own blood. "I'm sorry I couldn't solve dad's mess long
enough to make it worth your sacrifice for me.

"I still feel guilty playing with mechanical stuff, as you calls
it, mom. I went through business school because you paid for it
and because dad wanted me to, and I didn't have the heart to tell
you how I hated it. It feels that if I'm happy, I'll be betraying
you now. I don't know, mom, I really don't know, because right now
I've met a nice man, but I feel so guilty feeling happy with him.
What shall I do, mom? How I wish you can tell me something."

But she was lost in her own private world, and he received no
answer. He sat there and watched her sleep, until the nurse came
and asked him gently to leave so that Estelle could rest.

Rhys walked the streets afterwards, numbed as he always was after
his daily evening visits to his mother. He didn't know where he
was going, but it wasn't any surprise when he found himself
standing outside Tim's apartment door. It was still early, and Tim
hadn't come home from his lab yet. Bereft of anyone to talk to - a
common situation Rhys found himself in too many times - he finally
rested his forehead against the door and closed his eyes. No tears
fell, for he had been drained of his tears long ago. He just stood
there, eyes closed, unmoving, a ghost the way he felt in his very
soul.



"Rhys?" Tim dropped his briefcase on the floor and walked up to
the silent man. "Are you okay?"

Rhys opened his eyes, and Tim was struck by how lifeless they
were. "Yes, I'm okay," Rhys said in a flat monotone.

"You... how long have you been standing there?" Tim asked as he
steadied the man in his arms.

"I thought I'd finally be happy when I paid off the last of my
father's debts," Rhys just said instead. "But I think I will never
be happy."

"Stop talking like that," Tim said as he opened his door and
guided Rhys inside.

"My mother will die soon. My father is dead. It doesn't seem fair
that I'm alive," Rhys said dully as he let Tim guide him to a
couch. "It is not right that I was so alive last night when I
didn't even have the money to buy my mother the apartment she
always wanted. How can I be alive when she was dying? After all
she gave up for me? And I couldn't even do anything now, because
she's fucking dying."

Tim knelt before Rhys. "We can take care of her," the words came
out unthinking, but as Tim said it, as he looked at this
beautiful, wonderful, and hurting man, he knew he meant it with
every fiber of his being. "You and me, Rhys."

"You can't stop Alzheimer. I don't think you're that powerful."

"No, but I can make you feel alive. I think your mother will want
that for you."

"You don't know her." But that was spoken mildly, with no heat, a
sigh rather than castigation. "So don't use that hackneyed line on
me, Tim." But he placed his arms around Tim and rested his chin on
the man's strong, sturdy shoulders that could carry the weight of
the world, and he held Tim hard. "Maybe you can fuck me, Tim?
Please?"

Tim nodded, and unbuttoned Rhys' shirt with fingers that trembled
slightly. Rhys had tears rolling down his cheeks when he climaxed,
and Tim kissed them. He was lying there, dazed on the couch, when
Tim gently eased himself out of him to make them both some dinner.

Something had changed, Rhys thought as he unsteadily sat up on the
couch. Something in him felt different, loose and free, and he
didn't know if he liked that. Was it just he or the world felt
warmer at the moment? He pulled on his jeans and walked, not
knowing where he was walking. He found himself staring at a
cabinet housing Tim's CD collection: opera and classics - not
exactly Rhys' type of music. He noticed a complete absence of
switches in the house, and on instinct he clapped his hands.
Nothing happened.

"You use this," Tim said, picking up what seemed like a TV remote
(that was what it was until Tim tinkered with it). "I did the
rewiring and all myself," he said proudly. "Clapping hands seemed
like a clich‚d innovation." He placed two trays of hot ham, eggs,
and salad on the dining table. "Maybe I can show you my improved
food processor and my automaton collection."

"You have an automaton collection?" Rhys asked, perking up
noticeably.

"It's nothing compared to your clockwork toy inventions," Tim said
modestly.

They didn't speak of Rhys' emotional breakdown, and there was no
need, for they both knew it was there, and as people who
communicated best with their hands, they stayed up until two
thirty in the morning tearing apart Tim's robot valet in an
attempt to improve its memory circuits. Even if Tim had an early
morning the next day, he stayed with Tim, slowly making love to
him the remainder of the night, until he spilled his semen for the
last time that night in Rhys' convulsing ass at six in the
morning. He didn't leave the bed until he really had to.



His mother was lucid today, and while she didn't remember Rhys
anymore than she could take in her surroundings, she was
noticeably enamored of Tim. Rhys grinned, not blaming her mother
for warming up to the man who looked like an all-American
superhero.

He was embarrassed by his show of weakness, and he tried to tell
Tim that he would never be clingy, but Tim didn't seem to mind. In
fact the man seemed pleased that Rhys let him accompany him to
visit his mother today. Rhys still didn't know what it felt like,
for letting Tim meet his mother was a big step to blur the
boundaries between his life and Tim's.

Letting Tim take wheel-chaired bound Estella around the gardens of
the home (well-maintained thanks to the fees people like Rhys
spent almost their entire paychecks paying the home), Rhys just
watched those two in silence from his place at the bench. How did
he meet someone like Tim? Someone who shared his same interest and
who fit into his life like a hand in glove? It was enough to make
cynical Rhys almost believe that there was someone up there
looking out for lonely souls like he.

He heard Estella talk. She had been talking like her old self,
before she lost everything, and Rhys was grateful for Tim to bring
out that aspect of her mother. "Have you met my son Rhys? He's a
good son. He is too busy being a wonderful businessman, I know. I
just hope he will be happy," he heard his mother tell Tim, and he
froze.

"He's trying to be happy, Mrs Rhys-Meyer," Tim said, unaware that
Rhys could hear every word. "And I'll make sure of that."

"I wish he will understand that he isn't like his father, and he
doesn't have to spend his life making it up for his mistakes,"
Estella chattered on. "The other day, I remember he telling me a
long time ago how he wanted to buy me a house. Silly boy, I'd tell
him. Just seeing him grown up to be a man I can be proud of is
enough for me."

"I'll tell him," Tim said quietly.

They moved out of Rhys' range of hearing, but Rhys had heard
enough. He just watched those two, the most important person in
his life bonding with a man who was fast becoming just as
important even though she wouldn't remember Tim always, lost in
his confused jumble of thoughts.

"Rhys?" Tim gently called his name later.

Rhys nodded. He smiled at Tim, a smile of acceptance, and maybe
more. A smile borne of emotions he was only slowly starting to
comprehend. "Yeah."

He placed his hand in Tim's, and Tim squeezed it briefly before
they walked towards his car. The evening sun set low, and Rhys
rested his head against Tim's shoulder. Tim understood. "We'll be
okay, Rhys," he said softly. "I'm sure of it."

"I know," Rhys just said. "Tim, I know."