THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Silas

Written by Lady Poetess
egiggles at moose-mail.com
http://www.asstr.org/~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.
