THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB Silas 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 The young man looked uncannily like Brendan Fraser, one of the richest men in the world, that it unnerved Silas Gaither. But this doppelganger was obviously younger - probably in his mid- to late twenties. Silas shook his head in confusion. "Uh, Mr Fraser?" "Nope. Jeremy." "Jeremy Northam?" As far as Silas' research showed, Jeremy Northam was very British and nothing like this man. "Nope again. Jeremy London. I'm Uncle Fraser's nephew. I'm just taking care of this place while he and Alan are in Europe for their fifth honeymoon. I mean..." Confusion clouded the man's rather goofy and charming face. "You know Uncle Fraser's gay, right? I hope I haven't accidentally outed him to his friends." "Don't worry, it won't bother me one bit. I swing his side when the fellow's the right person" - with the right amount of money and the right size of the bank account, preferably - "so if Brendan's happily married with a guy, I'm all okay with it." That was the right thing to say, obviously, because Jeremy's face brightened up by the mere act of smiling. "If that's so, welcome to the family." It was then that Silas finally dragged his eyes from Silas' dazzling green eyes to notice that Jeremy was just wearing a loose white terry cloth robe. Silas caught hint of a slim but well- muscled body, nothing spectacular (Silas had seen and taken too many pretty young men to care for yet another gym-honed body). But his eyes returned to Jeremy's face. It was a fascinating face. The smile was bright and open enough to burn like the sun, but the man's eyes were also cloudy with indefineable... emotions? Ghosts? Silas could tell one clear emotion though: Jeremy's hungry eyes raking Silas' body from top to toe. It didn't faze him: he was used to being undressed by people's eyes. He knew he had the looks, and he had polished his charm and veneer to match. Some found him an oily opportunist, but more found him irresistible, including this man. Perfect. Silas was shopping for a new benefactor, and while he wasn't looking for this one (he was just here to fix the sink), he could do worse. An old pro, Silas could predict the exact shade Jeremy's eyes turn into when he was aroused despite himself, and Silas was ruthless in pressing home his advantage. His clothes were always just the perfect snug fit to highlight his body (once compared to a Greek god by an overenthusiastic old bugger) and well-muscled legs. His jeans fitted snugly so the prominent bulge in his crotch was the real thing. He was intensely aware of the slender and delicate slope of Jeremy's neck and the fragile collarbone lines. He inhaled. Ah, fresh, clean male. "Are you smelling me?" Jeremy asked in an amazed tone. "Yeah," admitted Silas easily. He placed his toolkit on the floor and one hand on the door frame, palm on the smooth wood just beside Jeremy's left ear. "So you're gonna let me in, pretty boy?" "For the plumbing?" Jeremy swallowed nervously. "What else?" Jeremy let his finger press a shallow indentation on Silas' chest, feeling the hard muscles under the fabric. "How can I say no?" Jeremy's mind was screaming no. No, no, no. They had warned him never to get involved in relationships when they let him out of that clinic, not if he wanted to stay out of that place. But he had never seen such a beautiful guy before. The plumber, Silas, put all those naked men in the magazines Francis smuggled into the clinic to shame. The way Silas' muscles stretched the limits of his shirt and jeans made Jeremy weak in the knees. What would the other man look like naked? Jeremy downed a glass of vodka quickly, needing the fortification. He was nervous, because the last time he fucked when in his teens, happier times before his parents died... no, his mind instinctively blocked the memories that threatened to drive him back to that dark hells in his mind. Better act than to think; he turned on the CD player, his favorite music being ambience and trance (Delerium could do no wrong in his opinion), and walked out of his bedroom. "I'm ready," he said, his voice only a little unsteady. To his consternation, Silas was on his back on the floor, actually fixing the sink. "Just a minute. I'll get this fucker done in a minute," Silas said. How like a man, Jeremy thought, remembering what Emmie the nurse at the clinic always said about her football-nut boyfriend. Deliberately he placed his feet at each side of Silas' torso and let his gown fall over the man's crotch. Silas' whistling died a quick death, and Jeremy knew the man could see up Jeremy thighs, right to the heated opening of male cunt that was Silas' for the taking. Jeremy turned on the tap - "I think you've fixed it!" - and cupped cool water with his hands. Under Silas' heated stare, he let the water flowed in rivulets along his body, down his stomach. He felt Silas shift and those rough hands on his thighs. And then Silas was licking at the rivulets, slowly up Jeremy's thighs, the tongue driving every nerve in Jeremy's skin wild. Then Jeremy had to clutch at the basin for support as Silas buried his face between Jeremy's legs, and he had to cry out when Silas' tongue plunged into him. Cool saliva, heated lips, and feverish skin ignited a conflagration in Jeremy's senses. Lord have mercy, he thought, as his body exploded in white hot explosions of ecstasy. He was dying, and what glory it was... oh yes, oh fucking yes. TWO Jeremy looked to the left and smiled at his reflection in the mirror that ran the full length of the wall. His penis jutted out below his belly and was leaking an almost steady stream of clear, shiny precum onto the sheets. And then he looked back, behind him, at Silas walking towards him, liberally coating that very thick and very rigid cock of his with lubricant as he walked. That cock was scary, he decided. Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all... But he didn't have time to think further, because all he could think about - or feel - was the enormous dickhead pressing against his pucker. Still, it was reassuring that Silas was being gentle. Jeremy forced himself to relax his butthole. "Jeremy, just hold it right there. Don't move. You got me so fuckin' horny I'll pop if we move right now." Both men looked in the mirror. Silas' tremendous cock was just barely inside Jeremy's anus. There were several more inches still to go. Somehow, the pain he'd expected hadn't happened. He reached down with his right hand and stroked his own urgently throbbing cock. Still watching the images in the mirror, Jeremy shoved his butt back toward Silas. Two more inches went in. Silas braced himself with both hands on the bed and pushed back again. And this time it was like he'd been getting fucked regularly all his life - every fucking inch of that cock went up his ass and up inside his belly smoothly and easily. He'd never felt this kind of lust before. His whole body was on fire! And it was all from the billows of heat raging outward from his steaming ass. "Oh, Christ, Silas. Fuck me! Fuck me!" Silas obliged. If only he could get at least one or two good strokes in before he blasted this butt with an incredible load of semen... Jeremy tried to relax his ass a little more and now the other man's cock was moving inside him like a piston, heating up Jeremy's insides even more. Silas picked up speed, and Jeremy moved in time with him so that the sound of Silas' belly banging against Jeremy's ass was loud in the bedroom. Jeremy loved the feel of Silas' huge hands on his hips, holding him in place while his asshole got the fucking of the century. He loved the sound of Silas' heavy breathing, and the obscenities that were beginning to drip from his lips. Both men began to spin out into a fog of lust where the only thing they were aware of was Silas' cock plunging in and out of Jeremy. Jeremy couldn't restrain himself. He began panting and moaning and writhing, trying to impale himself even further on Silas, feeling himself begin to hyperventilate, his flesh starting to tingle. Silas began moving even faster, although Jeremey couldn't have understood how - if he'd been in any shape to think. Finally, finally... Silas jammed his cock so far into Jeremy that his semen surged up out of his balls and through his urethra and exploded in mighty spurts into Jeremy's rectum. Jeremy collapsed onto the bed, and Silas fell with him. Silas lay there on top of Jeremy, breathing heavily but kissing Jeremy's sweaty shoulders and neck. Jeremy's toes were touching the floor as he recovered himself and lifted his torso up to support his weight on his forearms. He leaned over, and the two men kissed, slowly and deeply. "Silas, wow, that was incredible!" Silas silenced him with another kiss. "Yeah. And it's gonna get better." Jeremy quickly pushed his pill bottle under the pile of clothes in his drawer when he heard Silas push open the door. He was supposed to be taking those pills regularly to fight off depression, but after two weeks with Silas, he didn't want to feel like a freak by taking those pills. Sure, without those pills he would start hearing voices in his head - those screams of his mother, those ugly voices from nasty demons in his mind asking him to hurt himself... no, he didn't want to look at those pills again and feel ugly all over. Silas kissed Jeremy in the lips before pulling on a clean shirt. "I'm going to work." Jeremy nodded happily, content that Silas was here to give him great sex and company. Before Silas left, Jeremy handed a hundred dollar note to the man. Uncle Brendan always warned him that there would be greedy people out to use him. When his parents died, Jeremy was the sole heir to an amazing one eighteen million dollars worth of assets and funds. There were attempts by some of his relatives to contest the inheritance, but Jeremy was found sane and capable of rational thought, so he got the money. His Uncle Brendan and some lawyers managed the trust fund, and Jeremy had to apply for any large sum of money greater than his monthly allowance through Uncle Brendan. He knew Uncle Brendan was trustworthy, so he let the man invested his money. But Brendan was also too protective, and Jeremy was beginning to resent the man's condescending attitude. Jeremy was depressed, not feeble-minded, and he wanted to use the money for fun stuff. It was hard enough getting Uncle Brendan to give him the money to renovate this penthouse into a studio for his music. And Silas... oh boy, his uncle would explode. Jeremy grinned at that image of the arrogant man losing his temper and stomping his feet like a child. Silas, Brendan would rant, was an opportunist gigolo. But the way Jeremy saw it, he had too much money, he might as well squander some on sex. The music was coming back in his head. He needed the music to drown the chorus of voices in his head. Testing a few random keys on the piano, he hum the tune in his head aloud, his fingers instinctively pressing the corresponding key note by note. When it was finished, he would write down the music on paper. Probably no one else made music this way, but for Jeremy, it was the only way to stay sane. He never sold his many music pieces, he wrote them, hired people to play them, made them into mp3s, before uploading them on his website. Recently his music was fading, and the voices were growing stronger, even with the pills. Yet, today, the song was clear and crystal. Lost in creating the words to go with the music, he never noticed Silas' return that evening. He didn't even hear Silas. Hence, he didn't see Silas walk into his bedroom to pull open the drawer to search for the bottle of pills. Silas couldn't have heard right. He did, and the helpful pharmacist was getting very annoyed by Silas' apparent disbelief in her credentials. Silas absently thanked her and walked without knowing where he was going, lost in his thoughts. He had copied down the name on the label of that mysterious pill bottle, and now he knew it was a controlled drug for moderately severe cases of depression and schizophrenia. It was another disturbing revelation that his Jeremy wasn't the man he tried to pass himself off. Was Jeremy crazy? Silas couldn't believe that. In fact, he refused to believe it. The man who joked, laughed, and blushed in anger or embarrassment couldn't be crazy. Jeremy was just... sensitive. Yeah, that was that. The first revelation came that morning, when he hummed one of Jeremy's tunes while at work and someone recognized it as one of the more popular pieces of an online composer known only as Gloomy Sunday. Silas had someone at the office show him the website and let him listen to some mp3 downloads. Yeah, that was Jeremy's music alright - painfully haunting pieces that redefined the meaning of catharsis to his fans. He should know, for he had listened to Jeremy hum in the shower or while shaving. Everytime, Silas would slowly placed his hands around the other man's waist and ask him why he was so fond of humming threnodies. Jeremy would never tell him, always changing the subject in unnatural alarcity. Silas was given to understand that there was a whole legion of fans out there online for the composer apropriately named after the most depressing song in music history. His mercenary instincts perked up on this: he could persuade Jeremy to sign up to a recording studio and share the money that rolled in. The other man was eating out of his hands already, giving him hundred dollar bills whenever Silas asked. Dreams of money were inconsequential now, however, as Silas thought of the pills, Jeremy's haunted looks, and the music of pain and grief that seemed to flow like water from his mind into dirges composed from an orchestra of saxophones, violins, and madness. They all fit. Silas leaned against a wall and stared moodily at the sidewalk. This was trouble. He should bail out for greener pastures. And he would, if he could stop seeing those pain-tinged emerald eyes wherever he turned. Jeremy cringed when Silas placed the bottle in front of him during dinner. "You snooped through my things," he accused Silas in an attempt to turn the tables. It didn't work. Silas was too good at manipulation to fall for Jeremy's amateurish attempts. "You haven't been taking these pills this morning. I counted them. You should take two every six hours. Here, take two. And swallow them. I will check." Jeremy obeyed, his mind a mass of confusion. "You're not disgusted with me?" he asked softly after he was done. "Open your mouth. Good." Silas seemed genuinely pleased with Jeremy's compliance. In fact, something had changed. Silas was no longer seemingly on perpetual cocksureness, and he seemed even scared. "I'm disgusted that you don't even want to get well." "I can't get well!" Jeremy exclaimed before he could stop himself. "I will never get well!" And he couldn't stop babbling. It was as if a dam had broken and his pent-up emotions surged forth. He screamed, cried, wailed, or talked - either way, he made a lot of noise. The accident, it was always the accident, of how they were driving home one night when a drunk truck driver crashed into them. His father died, his head almost severed completely by a stray shard of glass, and his mother was more unfortunate. As she lay there dying from a gaping abdominal wound, slowly, painfully, her last sight was her husband's gruesome body. And Jeremy watched her die, trapped at the back of the car. That was when the voices, his mother's painful breathings and moans, the angry voices raging at the way his parents left him and how he had to remember them like this, the need to hurt himself out of irrational guilt that he survived and they didn't... maybe he even lost control and smacked Silas a hard blow across the nose, because Silas was bleeding from his nostrils as he placed his arms around a sobbing Jeremy on the floor. "I'm so sorry," Jeremy sobbed as he shakily tried to clean Silas' nose. "I didn't hurt you, right?" "No," Silas said. "I slipped and fell. Jeremy, why didn't you tell me?" "Why should I?" Jeremy answered when he could gain some semblance of composure. "You just want my money. Please, take ten thousand bucks and just leave, okay? Just hand me my checkbook." "Jeremy, don't you see?" Silas only answered. "No, what don't I see?" Hope, insidious hope, refused to die. "It's all about the music." And with that cryptic statement, Silas kissed Jeremy softly on the forehead. It was a light touch as faint as a butterfly's breath, but Jeremy only clung harder to Silas. Don't let go. Please. And Silas never did. THREE Only one other man knew of the real identity of Gloomy Sunday: Brendan Fraser, Jeremy's "Uncle Brendan", naturally since Brendan handled the incredible bandwidth bill of http://www.gloomysunday.com as well as the usual server space and domain fees. But that month, his assistant Brian called him while he was enjoying the sun of Tahiti with Alan, informing him that the bandwidth of http://www.gloomysunday.com had quadrupled after several online and dead wood music publications raved about the new piece of music. It was just called Silas, but it was supposedly a masterpiece. Some overenthusiastic critics claimed that Gloomy Sunday succeeded in creating vivid images of grief and torment. Rubbish, Brendan thought - mp3s are low quality music rips that could not even conjure a fart if they tried to. But nonetheless, he asked Brian to investigate this matter. When Brian reported that Silas was actually someone Jeremy had staying over at his penthouse, on all accounts his housekeeper and most probably his lover, Brendan decided to return to US at once. So much for his hope that Jeremy was inspired by George Eliot in this latest fiasco. "Uncle Brendan," Jeremy exclaimed two days later when he saw who it was that opened the door. "Aren't you supposed to be in Hawaii?" "Tahiti," Brendan automatically corrected. Whatever their faults, they were genuinely fond of each other, over their eeriely similar looks and shared sexuality. "I'm sorry I have to barge in on your happiness, Jeremy, but you know what I say about fortune hunters. Here, everything Brian found out about Silas." He handed a brief to Jeremy, who put it aside without even looking at it. "Yeah, he wanted my money," Jeremy told him. "I offered him to take how much he wanted, because what he gave me couldn't be measured by money, Uncle. But he refused to take a single cent. He's here for my music." "He knows I will never authorize the withdrawal of a huge check unless you and I talk face to face first," Brendan tried to say calmly. "No doubt he will stay here and fleece you slowly instead of alerting the trustees by making huge withdrawals." "Whatever." Jeremy insolently looked down at the music sheets he was working. "I'm not the enemy, Jeremy," Brendan snapped. "Read the files. He left Washington after knocking up some high and rising politician's wife. Yes, he was her kept man too. And there are many men and women before our careless lady who kept Silas. He used them all, as he is using you now. He told this lady he loved her and he would stand by her when they told her husband that she was leaving him for Silas. Instead of keeping his word, Silas decamped. She tried to kill herself by overdosing on sleeping pills." The pencil in Jeremy's hand snapped. "Sleeping pills?" he asked in a nonchalant tone that fooled Brendan not one bit. Brendan was in a foul mood when he cornered Silas who was on his way back from work. Silas didn't run, even if he knew what was coming. Brendan whacked a thick envelope unmistakably filled with cash against Silas' chest. "$25,000. Get out of Jeremy's life." "No." "You won't be getting a cent more," Brendan said coldly. "I know you, Silas, you're a bitch to anyone who will throw money your way." "The answer's still no." "What the fuck do you want?" demanded Brendan. "Is $25,000 all that's Jeremy's worth to you? For me, I don't think there's any amount of money that can get me to leave him." Silas smiled sheepishly. "I wonder if I'm mad but it's true. He gave me a chance when I wanted one. Look, I will take care of him, I swear. I will do my best to make him happy," he said more earnestly now. "Please, give me a chance. I swear I will try, please." Brendan shook his head. He wanted to say something, but he just turned instead and walked away without any other word. "Where are we going?" Jeremy asked in bewilderment as he was dragged to the plane. "Paris. Notre Dame. Anywhere you want. How about Vienna?" Brian Littrell, Brendan's assistant, suggested. "You'll love Europe, Jeremy. It's a musical place." "What about Silas?" "Silas' gone. Your uncle paid him quarter a million bucks to get out of your life and he took it." "You lie," cried Jeremy, really trying to struggle free from the three burly men dragging him to the plane. "He'll never leave me. He promised!" "Come on, Jeremy. We both know he's snake. You'll be happier without him." "But he said..." "He lied." Jeremy hesitated, and were not for hands holding him, he would have collapsed on the ground. Brendan and Brian wouldn't lie, right? Then Silas had to be gone. Lying, cheating bastard... no. No, he thought in determined, even desperate, denial. "I must talk to Silas. He won't leave me. He never told me, but I know he loves me. There must be a good reason why he left. Maybe you told him how crazy I was, or how I am a nutcase he must leave for my own good - let me go! LET ME GO!" He was screaming now as he struggled futilely against his captors. "Get him on the plane!" Brian snarled at his men, his patience tested beyond his limits. "Jeremy!" At that instant, all eyes turned towards the direction of the urgent yell. Silas. He was trying to fight off airport security as he struggled to reach them. "Please, for the love of God, don't leave me," Silas shouted. "Don't take him away from me! I don't want the money." A fist on his jaw sent Silas reeling back. Nobody hurt Silas. Jeremy, fuelled by a mad rage he never even knew he was capable of, gave an insane yell and broke his right hand free from his startled captors. He swung his fist towards Brian's jaw. Brian easily evaded it, but the other man's sudden move caused his captors to loosen their hold on him, and he broke free to run towards Silas. "Don't," Brian told his men who was poised to give chase. "Let him go." "But Mr Fraser said - " "Mr Fraser is wrong this time, I'm afraid." Brian raised one hand and made a swift gesture that sent the airport guards stepping away from Silas. "I think Mr Fraser fucked up big time." Jeremy sobbed as he got on his knees and cradled Silas' bruised face in his arms. "You okay?" he asked brokenly. "No, don't speak. Your lips are cut and there will be a bad bruise soon." "I'm okay. We won." Silas tried to laugh, but he choked instead. "I won't be pretty for a while, Jeremy. Sorry." "I don't care, moron. I just want you." "I didn't take the money. You know that, right? I couldn't take it." Jeremy nodded. "Because I love you. Mad or not, you are still the one who can make me feel whole." "Shut up and save your energy," Jeremy told him through his tears. "I know all this, so you can tell me later when you are better. You have to get well, Silas, because I want to make music. I think I will experiment with some happier variations, but... oh what am I saying? Where's the ambulance? Someone call the doctor!" Silas nodded, and in the comfort of Jeremy's arms, he closed his eyes and waited for peace of unconsciousness. Knowing, as it came, that when he opened his eyes, Jeremy would be there, and they would try for a happily ever after. By God, they'd try.