THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Frederick

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

Frederick Prinze, Jr had never been surrounded by so much ass and
hard muscles before. If he had known a ballet house had this much
flesh, hell, he wouldn't have protested when his parents tried to
send him to ballet classes when he was eight.

He was glad for his dark trousers that pretty much concealed his
half-hard cock. He lowered his dark shades and looked at a row of
very well muscled young men in tights and white top doing the
barre. "Very nice," he murmured, taking in the well-oiled movement
of those fluid, hard muscles under those fair skin. "I could use
some of these guys myself."

Telling himself to enroll in a ballet class ASAP after he had
settled this matter of Dougray Scott, he made his way through the
practice hall. Actually he felt pretty much out of his league here
- he had never been in such a sissified environment of pansy
ballet in his life. He was more of a Porsche and Ferrari sort of
guy, and the only tango he did was the horizontal sort, preferably
with one of these young hunks.

Aware on curious eyes on his bright, garish Aloha shirt and baggy
dark pants, he scanned the room for the man he was sent her to
look for. It was almost five and already he was impatient to get
home and prepare for a date. If Dougray Scott would be so nice as
to make himself seen, maybe Freddie could get back to his long-
neglected I-need-to-get-laid agenda.

"Aha!" he said to himself, as was his habit after years of being
an only - and often neglected - latchkey son of a well-known pair
of movie stars, as soon as he spotted a man standing at where a
nice ballerina had pointed to. "Mr Scott? Dougray Scott?"

"No, that's not me," the man Freddie called to said with a good-
natured smile on his hand. He pointed up at the ladder he was
holding. "Now that's Doug."

Freddie looked up. "Wow," he said aloud.

Until today, he would still swear that was the sexiest butt he had
ever seen. Encased in white tights that mould to every contour and
curves, those tight, well-rounded cheeks made Freddie's hands
itched to touch them. Indeed, those luscious, hard-looking
muscular buns looked good enough to eat.

"I can't find those fucking tiaras," came the muffled sound of
Doug's voice. "James, are you sure they are in there?"

Doug lifted one well-muscled leg up one rung on the ladder,
causing his buttocks to clench in an enticing manner that made
Freddie's mouth drop open. Freddie couldn't help himself, he
walked around the ladder, and sighed when he saw the front of
Dougray Scott's lower body.

He had seen danseurs in their tights in this hall, and had some
naughty thoughts about those bulges at their tights-encased
crotches. But this! Wow, this one took the grand prize - Freddie
could see the gentle curve of the man's penis bulging over the
round curve of his balls, all in one handful - a large handful -
of a package,

Oh yes, Freddie decided he really ought to take up ballet classes.
This beat a visit to a nudist beach anytime.

"What are you looking at?" the Scots-tinged voice cut through
Freddie's lust-hazed thoughts.

Freddie finally looked above Dougray's belt and saw a stern but
handsome and chiseled face that belonged more to a regal king than
a danseur. He grinned his perfect Mr Cool Dude smile that had
knocked most people off their feet, and removed his dark Ray-ban
shades.

"Hi! I'm Frederick Prinze, and we spoke over the phone this
morning?" he started to say.

"Oh yeah, you're supposed to be here an hour ago."

"Traffic in New York," Freddie said simply.

"Well, since you're late, I guess it's only fair you wait until I
finish finding these missing props for the next performance," Doug
said, returning to his searching in the top lockers. "Go on and do
something. Meet me again in an hour's time."

"Hey, wait a minute -"

"Mr Prinze," Dougray said, looking at Freddie and giving the man a
thunderous scowl. "You and Ethan Hawke need me, and I have set
aside a precious hour waiting for you in my office. You've wasted
enough of my time. An hour of your time won't fuck your weekend
plans, which I'm sure is your concern at the moment. Now get out
of my way."

Touch‚. Freddie gave that great ass one more look, then bit his
lower lip as he considered the man up the ladder. Even that James
was smirking insolently in glee at him, and he hated being made a
fool in public.

Well, Dougray Scott had just gotten himself a death wish. Before
this week was over, Freddie would have that man in his bed.
Dougray Scott was now officially a marked man.



"You know nothing about ballet, but you're writing one?" Dougray
asked incredulously.

"Actually, I wouldn't exactly call myself the ballet writer. I
know shit about choreographing and other things ballet. What we're
doing is changing my new play into a ballet. I'm offering the male
lead to you, as well as that of a choreographer. It'll be
perfect," Ethan said, grinning. "There'll be death, tragedy,
betrayal, and brains being splattered all over the floor. Classic
ballet stuff. Oh, and while the idea's mine, it's Freddie here who
would be producing it."

Freddie sat back, devilishly amused at the flabbergasted look on
Doug's face. Poor Doug, stuck in a cramped, messy office with two
very people who got off on making people uncomfortable and
irritated. Freddie knew Ethan's enthusiasm in this latest project
was greatly due to the anticipation of the conservative art
critics' heart attacks than any aesthetic pleasures. Aesthetic
values came only secondary to pissing people off to Ethan, and it
was only good fortune to the art scene of New York that most of
what Ethan created for stage and art had aesthetic values.

Freddie's motives were less noble. Unlike his parents or Ethan,
the last thing he would claim to be was an artist or even a patron
of the arts. He played some music on his guitar, but it wasn't his
livelihood. He was a dilettante who made/wasted his pocket money
(in addition to his inheritance) by investing in various projects
around America and beyond. He had a keen nose for money (one that
he unfortunately didn't bother to use to help him finish college)
hence he was pretty much drowning in money. And his every instinct
told him that investing in Ethan's art company The Brigadiers
would be a wise move.

Ethan had a wild, almost insane vision for his company, born out
of a need to piss people, boredom, and ennui, as well as for a
genuine outlet for Ethan to see his works brought to stage
(everyone was terrified of funding his work). Freddie wasn't
confident of Ethan's business sense or even the man's long-term
commitment to The Brigadiers, but he had seen how young,
revolutionary artists had clamored to work under the banner of The
Brigadiers. Ethan's anything-goes policy excited them as it
bestowed upon them a license to create without fear of grant and
sponsorship withdrawals. Also, Ethan's bizarre, macabre humor and
unlikely genius struck a chord in them, and Freddie could see
profits in the long run. He supplied the lion's share of the money
to start up The Brigadiers, and he had used that opportunity to
protect his investment by laying down rules and business policies
as well as taking over the PR machinery. Ethan and his fellow
eccentric members of the board only gladly relinquished control of
these irritating nuisances to Freddie and his appointed trustees.

Hence, Freddie suddenly found himself with a job, and he wasn't
still sure if he liked that.

Shrugging off his reverie, Freddie concentrated on what is at
hand. Dougray's skepticism - the man was from an old school after
all, according to a friend who knew ballet - and Ethan's ideas
were probably driving poor Doug into apoplexy. Ethan, however, was
a born showman, and the man could talk the pants off the Pope if
he put his mind to it. And Ethan, challenged by Dougray's
skepticism at his project, was being very, very persuasive. He'd
probably learned some emotional manipulation tactics from his
shrink boyfriend too, Freddie thought, hiding his grin behind his
hand on his chin.

"Fine, I'll do your play," Dougray said finally, pushing his seat
behind. "You'd probably talk me to death if I don't agree."

Ethan flashed his brilliant grin and punched the air. "You won't
regret this, Doug," he said. He pulled out a bottle of champagne
from his drawer. "We will put your name on the forefront of
revolutionary ballet!"

"A reputation I'd rather not have, thank you very much," Doug said
calmly. "You do know I'm doing this for the money, don't you?"

"You do know I'm hiring you because you're cheap, don't you?"
Ethan replied with equal calmness.

Freddie's brows lifted in pleasant surprise when Dougray chuckled
and accepted Ethan's right hand. So much for noble intentions to
further the cause of art.



That night, Ethan tapped on Freddie's office door. "Sorry I ruined
your Friday evening."

Freddie looked up from his surfing of porn sites in his office.
"No, it's okay. Chances are my used-to-be-date wouldn't give out
anyway."

"Hey, fresh black meat!" Ethan said, walking in to look closer
over Freddie's shoulder. "Well, I know big-dicked black guys are
demeaning stereotypes, and by drooling over these doctored
pictures, we are reducing a functional human being into nothing
more than sex object. But oh what the fuck, look at that cock!"

Freddie tilted his head to look at the badly scanned, probably
fake, picture. "Actually, I think it's a bit small." Compared to
Doug's package. That was, of course, if Doug didn't stuff his
crotch with a roll of towel like Freddie heard some danseurs did.
Or was that just another urban legend?

Whatever. Freddie would be really disappointed if Doug did stuff
his crotch. "I do wonder where all the big ones have gone?"

"I have no idea," Ethan answered. "I wouldn't exactly call Doc big
and I don't recall any of my boyfriends before Doc being
impressive in size department. And I have no inclination to go
looking, I'm afraid."

"A faithful Ethan. Now that's something," Freddie said, clicking
the mouse to change the picture to that of Leonardo di Caprio
flashing his dick around. "God, another small one."

"Hey, Freddie, I'm serious about my relationship with Doc as well
as this Brigadiers," Ethan said, suddenly solemn. "I know I'm not
a most reliable asshole, but when it comes to The Brigadiers and
Doc, I won't screw up on them. Why else you think I let you handle
the money and business aspects? I have no head for money and I
know I will bungle up."

"And I thought you respected my business sense," Freddie said in
mock injured tone.

"Freddie, I like you, you're my buddy, but trust me, your business
sense is only second to my lack of one in being the reason of my
appointing you a seat in the Board. Hey, get back to that last
picture. Now that's a big one."

"You know, Doug has a big one," Freddie said.

"Really? I didn't care to look below the neck." Ethan grinned,
placing his hands on Freddie's shoulder. "Not that I really care,
for the man is too serious - I bet he is cold fish in bed. You
interested in shopping in his store?"

"You think he'll accept my credit?" Freddie asked.

"That depends. You think he swings our way?"

"There are ways to make a man swing over," Freddie answered. "But
I hate to expand the energy, especially as it always involve
giving head to a panicked straight guy. It gets boring and I
always get locked jaw from all that sucking and pacifying the
whiny breeder."

"Hey, you can always get him drunk first. Worked before for me."

Freddie shook his head in bemusement and clicked on the mouse for
the next picture. "That's a big one," he agreed.

Ethan looked thoughtfully at the picture on the monitor. "Trust
me, Freddie, it's a bloody clich‚, but I'd rather have a nice
medium-sized cock that can fuck well than a large cock that would
probably land me in intensive care for a torn anus."

"Thought you're strictly a top," Freddie murmured. "Or had Doc
succeeded where no one had?"

"Well, I'm thirty-two. It's definitely time to diversify," Ethan
said cheerfully. "Next picture, please."



TWO

Doug saw the annoying asshole Freddie walking out of the caf‚
across the school the same time as Doug walked out of the school
doors.

"What the hell do you want?" he asked curtly, looking out for a
cab.

"Well, you're in luck. There's space in my backseat. Want me to
give you a lift?" Freddie said.

Doug quickened his pace. "No thanks."

Freddie only walked past him and made a showy whirl before turning
to stand before Doug, facing him with that insolent smirk of his.
He held up a large bouquet of black roses. "For you?" the man
said.

Doug had to admit Freddie dressed like an elegant gentleman, his
height allowing him to carry off the expensive white silk shirt
and dark silken pleated trousers like a man born to walk as
royalty. And the man had a cheeky charm about him that bestowed
upon his normally handsome but uninteresting face a distinguishing
trait that could stick in any observer's mind.

Doug hated to admit it, but he had carried the image of Freddie's
smile and that cheeky glint in the man's brown eyes in his mind
since their first meet. Freddie was young, spoiled, and used to
having his way or paying the world to turn his way - Doug knew
these sort of people, and he now refused to get involved with
them. But Freddie. Marion, his colleague who read all the society
papers, had let Doug know that Freddie was known among his circles
as The Charming One. He could see why.

Freddie, standing here, with a bouquet of roses for Doug, made the
gesture one of the most romantic Doug had ever received. It wasn't
only the rarity of the roses he was offering, it was the gentle
upward quirk of those lips that was simultaneously daring Doug to
accept the roses as well as letting Doug know that Doug's refusal
would break his heart. Or those dark eyes that were at once
defiant - "Hey, screw me over, I'll still survive" - and forlorn -
"Please, I'm on my knees, say yes".

"What game are you playing, Freddie?" Doug asked, moving aside to
walk around Freddie.

The other man wouldn't let him, deftly moving to stand in front of
Doug again. "Well, I want to make up for my boorish behavior on
day one. Have dinner with me and let me make you the happiest man
on earth."

"I have a feeling I'm set for some sort of juvenile and petty
games of yours. What are you trying to do? Seduce me and discard
me in some sort of deluded need for vengeance? Give me a break."
Doug saw a cab and flagged at it with his hand.

Freddie forcefully closed the cab door Doug was trying to open. He
pulled out a hundred dollar note into the cab and said, all the
while looking at Doug challengingly, "Here's a hundred bucks for
you to drive off, Mr Cab Driver."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of hundred dollar
notes. Holding it up to Doug, he said, "I have enough to pay off
ten more cabs from driving you home. You're not in a hurry, I
hope, since you seem to be allergic to my car."

"You're mad." Doug tampered the blossoming of a smile on his face.
He had to admit: Freddie's determination was flattering. "Why
don't you just go home, and find someone else to play with?"

"Well, no one inspires me like you do, Doug. I hear love songs in
my head. It's like the West Side Story - say your name in a
whisper and it sounds like a prayer, and say it loud and my world
stops turning."

"They shouldn't call you The Charming One. You're more of The
Corny One," Doug said, walking fast.

Freddie caught up with him all the way. "Say yes, Doug, or I'll
embarrass us both by getting down on my knees and singing off-key
a horrible rendition of `Nessun Dorma'."

Doug lifted his hands in exasperation. "Fine, you can go out with
me. But not today, for I have to be at the Riverdance House by
eight."

"Fine, I'll go with you," Freddie said, pulling off his tie.



Dougray's feet tapped and glided on the wooden floor in rapid-fire
staccato stomps, never stopping even for a second as the man did a
graceful twirl. His rapidly clapping hands added to the rhythm of
his feet, as the man danced and twirled like a magician performing
a spell of light.

Freddie had long stopped breathing and he knew his mouth was wide
open in amazement, but he couldn't move to close it. The red sash
around Doug's waist was the only concession to color in his outfit
of white billowing shirt and tight dark tights.

To the clashing merry violins and flutes and castanets the dancer
turned gracefully, his feet stomping the wooden floor in a rhythm
of taps even as he revolved around his female partner. Doug's
stern face had long relaxed into a smile as he took the woman and
turned her around the floor.

Freddie hated that woman in an irrational burst of envy. After
all, she was the one who brought out this elegance and music in
the magnificent dancer that was Dougray. As the drums started to
pound and Dougray leapt into the air, performing a double
pirouette before landing in perfect balance on his toes only to
glide into another pirouette, the crowd went wild in cheers and
generous applause.

For the first time, Freddie didn't question Ethan's insistence on
hiring this long-forgotten danseur who, at thirty-four, was long
past a dancer's short shelf life. "But trust me, Freddie, I've
seen him dance," Ethan had said to Freddie then, and Freddie
didn't listen. Now Freddie was perversely glad that no one would
see him eat his words right here and now.

In a loud flourish of violins, Doug leapt into the air one last
time, and fell to his feet in a graceful bow to the appreciative
audience. A sea of people surrounded him and his partner, and
Freddie soon lost sight of them.

Feeling alone and ignored, an unusual occurrence in his life,
Freddie ordered for another one of those strong lager drinks this
old Irish-style tavern served. This date wasn't turning out like
he expected. Trust that his first unbroken date in weeks had to
end with his date abandoning him. He looked at his reflection in
the dark glass and shook his head ruefully.



"Sorry to leave you here for so long. I just can't get away from
the crowd." Dougray sat opposite Freddie at the table some twenty
minutes later, still in his loose shirt and tights. "God, I need a
drink."

"Oh, don't mind me. Go and have fun with your adoring fans,"
Freddie said.

The music started again and this time another couple took to the
floor.

"You don't really like this sort of thing," Doug said.

"Truthfully, this is the first time I'm seeing a dance like this.
It's nice." Freddie raised his hands in a placating gesture when
Doug gave him an ugly look. "Okay, you were great. Amazing. Happy
now?"

"Yeah. Wanna dance with me?"

Freddie actually recoiled. "No! Besides, us dancing? These folks
may not look upon that kindly. And I can't dance."

"Well, these folks know I'm as queer as folk. Relax, among
dancers, everyone's mostly bisexual. They'll be okay with you and
me. Come on." Doug stood up and offered his hand. "Take my hand,
Freddie."

"No!" Freddie said, eyeing the hand in terrified askance. "I don't
dance. I never - aiyyyyyi!"

The other man pulled him to his feet roughly. Freddie found
himself clasped to Doug's chest. He placed his palms on Doug's
chest and tried to break free.

"Don't worry, I've cleaned up my sweat and stuff, so feel free to
put your hands anywhere on my body,' Doug said, his eyes twinkling
mischievously.

"If I'm not so terrified I'll take up on that," Freddie hissed,
even as blood surged into his cock at Doug's words. He couldn't
think too, not when he could smell the sweat and virile
masculinity of Doug, and definitely not when the muscular thighs
and that thick bulge at the crotch of the other man was pressing
against him in an intimate embrace.

"I haven't danced since I was eight," Freddie said. That fiasco
resulted in his refusal to even move his feet to music.

Doug clapped and pushed Freddie away. "Come on, dance. Follow my
steps."

Freddie swallowed, aware that eyes were on him. To the claps and
clatters of castanets, Doug's feet moved in a mind-boggling
dexterity that was as beautiful to watch as well as impossible to
follow. Freddie couldn't move, however, not when cold fear held
him frozen in petrifaction.

"Freddie," Doug said, his voice promising retribution, when he
realized the other man wasn't moving.

"Fine," Freddie said, his patrician arrogance slowly breaking down
the icy fear in his heart. He ripped off his tie and threw it
carelessly across the room. Next to sail across the room was his
coat. To wolf-whistles and teasing laughter, Freddie tapped his
feet hesitantly on the floor.

Doug sailed across the floor to the music to stand behind Freddie.
"Like this," he said.

Freddie lost all rational thoughts when Doug placed his hands on
Freddie's thighs. "Now move," the man whispered into his ear, his
breath warm on Freddie's ear and nape, those hands giving
Freddie's hips a push.

It was too intimate - Doug was too close. Freddie could feel the
man's heat burning his back, and he couldn't help throwing his
head back to rest against Doug's shoulder. "Feel the music,
Freddie," Doug said, breathing hard from his dancing.

Freddie moved. He let Doug guide his hips as he danced. Awkward at
first, he soon fell into rhythm. "Yeah," Doug cried, when Freddie
started to get the rhythm. "There's no actual steps, Freddie, just
you moving the way the music moves you."

With Doug's warmth and strength surrounding him, Freddie felt his
fear melt in the cheers of the crowd. He soon forgot the world
around him, and the world faded into nothing but Doug holding him,
making him laugh. Freddie gave a loud laugh - hell, he was
actually dancing!



He was still laughing when he staggered into the men's room much
later. "God, if my father sees me dancing, he would flip," he
said, splashing cold water on his face.

Doug stepped before a urinal. "You surprise me, really. You were
really good on the floor tonight."

His blood still singing from the exhilaration of the dance,
Freddie listened to the sound of Doug's piss stream hitting the
urinal bowl. He looked in the mirror at the sight of the man's
back facing him. His hand reached to touch the reflection of the
man's taut, shapely buttocks, and Freddie's blood started to boil
in a very different sort of song.

He looked at the door thoughtfully, and silently reached to jam it
shut. He was unfastening his trousers when Doug looked around and
asked, "What the hell are you doing?"

Freddie didn't answer. He just walked up to the man and calmly
reached around to close his hands around the other man's cock.

Warm urine splashed on his hands. "What the fuck are you doing,
let go of my cock," Doug cried, but Freddie only pushed the man
against the wall. "Relax, Doug," he said, his voice low in his
lust as he slowly caressed the fast swelling cock in his urine-
stained fingers. "Let me pay you back for this wonderful evening
you gave me," he whispered, his other hand now rubbing and
clenching into the rock hard buns.

"No," Doug whispered, but Freddie noticed the man didn't fight
him.

"Press the flush button," Freddie said. Doug complied, and Freddie
let the cool water wash over his stained fingers. "God, you're so
beautiful. I've wanted you ever since I first saw you."

Doug only threw his head back against Freddie's chest and closed
his eyes to the sensation of the other man's slow playing with his
cock. "You're as big as I thought," Freddie whispered, his hands
pressing gently into the hard, throbbing shaft, massaging the
thick length slowly, exerting just enough pressure to make Doug
shudder in delight. "In fact, you've surpassed my expectations."

"I'm about to come," Doug moaned, bending over to hold the wall
for support.

Abruptly Freddie stepped back, releasing his hold on Doug's cock.

"Fuck, what did you do that for?" Doug yelled. "I'm so fucking
close."

Freddie leaned against the wall and unbuttoned his shirt
impatiently. Pulling it off his shoulders, he told the man, "If
you need to come, you better come up my ass."

Doug pulled off his shirt, revealing a well-muscled chest, and
pushed his tights down below his balls. "You want a fuck, you'll
get a fuck," he said, taking three large strides that sent his
cock to push against Freddie's spread thighs, at the very center
of the pulsing ring of muscles that guarded the man's quivering
asshole. Without preliminaries, Doug stepped closer, sending an
inch of his cock stretching up Freddie's anus. Freddie gave a
choked cry of pain and gratification, his nails digging into
Doug's shoulders.

Doug gritted his teeth, lost in the sensation of blood seeping
down his back even as the tight, hot furnace of Freddie's anus
closed over his cock like a velvet glove. The well-educated ass
convulsed around his cock as it tried desperately to adjust to
Doug's size. Its thick, smooth, slippery, and muscular walls
clamping and caressing every inch of that thickly-veined penis in
an iron grip so hot and tight that Doug felt as if that anus was
sucking out the very juices from his balls. He gave a cry of
delight when the heated flesh gave way at last, and he was in, up
Freddie so deep that he could feel his pubic hair pressing into
Freddie's anal ring.

He placed his hand on the firm muscles on Freddie's stomach, and
felt the man's muscles clench in pain. Freddie's hands were now
clutching painfully at Doug's buttocks, the nails pressing into
the sensitive cleft.

"Fuck. me!" Freddie said in a hiss of exhalation of his breath.

Dougray nodded, panting as he steadied Freddie on the sink. Then
he began screwing the man in earnest. His cock slowly withdrew
from that ass that only clenched him harder, not wanting to yield,
until only his cock crown was embedded in that silky velvet anus.
Then he rammed his cock back in, hilt-deep, hard. His pubic arch
smashed into Freddie's pelvic bone, causing Freddie to throw his
head back and cried out. Dougray repeated his fucking, his mouth
closing over Freddie's luscious, large nipples, sucking on them
one by one, as his smoothly thrusting hips drove the other man
slowly but surely out of his mind.

With each plunge of Doug's cock up his ass, Freddie felt himself
give, until finally Doug's cock head touched a part so deep up in
his anus, so deep that no one else had ever touched him there
before, and he felt himself splinter. He screamed, Doug's mouth
quickly covering him to muffle the scream, as a million burning
sensation erupted from the bottom of his spine, surging up all his
nerves until he convulsed. His testicles boiling, he reached down
for his own cock. One touch was all it took, sending his semen
gushing forth to bathe Doug's chest and his stomach in his climax.

Doug grinned at Freddie's insensate climax. He ground his hips to
a halt, letting the other man catch his breath and regain his
senses. "God," Freddie breathed at last. "That was amazing." The
man closed his eyes when he felt Doug's hard cock still burning
his insides. "Oh God, not again," he whimpered.

Shaking his head in a wry grin, unable to speak himself, Doug
lifted his hips slightly, so that his cock now could brush against
Freddie's prostate more acutely with each thrust, and drove his
cock home. Freddie opened his mouth to plead for mercy. Doug had
no mercy, however, pumping his cock savagely up Freddie's ravaged
ass, stopping only for a brief few seconds when his juices gushed
forth in an orgasm that ravaged him into a pleasurable groan that
almost drove him mad. His cock only still slightly softened, he
started fucking Freddie again even before he spilled the last drop
of his semen up that voracious ass.



"More, please," Freddie begged, still shuddering from his climax
as he spread his thighs ever wider. Doug gave a loud sigh, arching
his back and thrusting his cock one last time deep up Freddie as
the last of his current ejaculation spurted forth.

"I don't think I have the energy for yet another round," Doug said
in broken breath as he rolled off Freddie to fall heavily on his
back on the bed. "I can't keep up with you."

"Well, you've kept up well for one week," Freddie said, turning
over to cuddle up to Doug. "I'm sure you can keep this horse dick
hard for a while longer," he said, reaching down to cup the wet
cock that even now jumped weakly to life in his hands.

Doug pushed Freddie's hand away gently. He gave one look at the
man whose ass he had provided stud service to so well for the past
week, and turned his head away, not wanting Freddie to see the
pain in his eyes. It was becoming harder to maintain a calm fa‡ade
when Freddie meet him in broad daylight in the daily auditions and
rehearsals, because he was sure everyone could see in Doug's eyes
that he was wearing his heart for all to see.

He lit a cigarette and offered one to Freddie. He might as well
face it - he was addicted to this man. Freddie was charming,
slick, sophisticated, and a damned good lay. It also irked Doug
because Freddie had no problem maintaining a professional distance
during the day. One wouldn't suspect that Freddie would go down on
his knees whenever Doug wanted a blowjob, or how the man would beg
for Doug's cock up his arse.

It was a game for Freddie, he knew. Doug could only hope that
Freddie wouldn't have gotten too deep under his skin when the man
dumped Doug, if it wasn't too late already.



THREE

"I love dancing," Doug told Freddie one night. "It's all I ever
wanted to do. I wanted to be a star."

"So why didn't you?" Freddie asked, lying on Doug's body with his
arms folded under his chin on Doug's chest.

Doug wondered why he was telling Freddie this, but he couldn't
stop himself even if he wanted to. When Freddie looked at him this
way, as if every word Doug said mattered, even if Freddie was
pretending to be sincere Doug couldn't help but to bite the bait.
"Well, at eighteen I was admitted to the American Ballet Academy
on a scholarship. I was like nobody they had seen before." Doug
sighed. "And I was good, so good that I made whoever see me
onstage fall in love with me. Before long I was fucking the Head
as well as his wife and daughter, and I was also a ballet-loving
rich old man's kept boy. The power was intoxicating. Me, a poor
shopkeeper's son from Aberdeen, wanted by so many people."

Freddie reached up and tweaked Doug's nose playfully. "You know,
if there's a tragic ending to this, I don't want to hear it."

"Well, it had to happen that the daughter believed herself to be
in love with me, and when I cheated on her with her best friend,
she swallowed a whole bottle of sleeping pills." Doug was
surprised at the calm in his voice. "In my thoughtlessness I
destroyed three people's lives."

"So you left the Academy and decided to be a small-time, anonymous
ballet teacher instead." Freddie ran his fingers along Doug's
curls. "So, why are you performing in Ethan's travesty of a
ballet?"

"Well, I need the money." Doug caught Freddie's hand and kissed
the forehand. "And Ethan can be so persuasive."

Freddie looked at Doug inscrutably for a moment, then rolled off
the man. "Well, Doug, it's a good story, but the ending needs a
rewrite."

"What do you have in mind?" Doug asked, suddenly unable to breathe
as a rush of unfamiliar warmth came over his senses.

"Well, I always think," Freddie said, his hand moving down the
length of Doug's body, his touch light over the hard muscles
tensed under his hand, until his fingers closed over the man's
fast filling cock. "I always think every story needs a happy
ending. So, how about you meeting this nice, wonderful, and
charming me who thinks the both of us can work something out of
what we have."

Doug grinned as Freddie straddled him. As Freddie's anus parted,
letting Doug's cock sink into warm, velvet heat, Doug chuckled.
"You think so?"

"I have no idea, to be honest," Freddie said, closing his eyes as
the wonderful sensation of being filled rushed over his senses.
"But I'm willing to give it a try."

"Mind if I know why me?" Doug couldn't help asking, his old
insecurities once dormant now raging their ugly head. Freddie was
a good lay, but hell if Doug would offer his heart and body if all
the man wanted was sex. He was a whore once, and he didn't like
it.

"Well," Freddie said, sighing as they began moving their hips
together, driving that thick, pulsing cock deeper up his ass. God,
this man was good. "You're hung, you got a great ass, and best of
all, I have this feeling that we are going to get along great."

It wasn't much, but Doug liked what he heard. He sat up and kissed
Freddie hard, bruising the man's lips. "Okay," he whispered. "I'll
have you."



FOUR

Ethan was still laughing over the reviews of his play two days
after it opened.

"Look at this! Stuffy-assed Connor calls me a travesty of
culture," he hooted. "I'm flattered to be called the herald of the
death of the ballet."

Matthew Broderick, a calm where his partner was a tempest, looked
at the reviews with his usual clarity. "I'm sorry to say this,
Ethan, but I think they actually love your work," he said after
reading the Connor piece.

"Can't be," Ethan declared. "These critics hate me,' he said in
perverse delight.

"Well, Connor calls you a travesty, but I really believe it's a
compliment. See?" Matt pointed at the sentence. "He says, `Ethan
Hawke, the schizophrenic and perverse distortionist and poster boy
for Kafka-esque imageries, had conjured yet another disturbing
travesty of an art, this time turning his razor-sharp claws into
the ballet culture.' I think he really likes you. The scene where
the ballerina performed pirouettes upon pirouettes until her head
fell off really charmed him." He perused the other reviews in
other journals and newspapers. All pretty much said the same thing
with little minor variations - Ethan's supposedly travesty of a
ballet really won them over.

Ethan looked horrified. "Connor is the most conservative critic in
New York," he said when he managed to shake off his shock. "He
can't like me, much less love me!"

Matt smiled to himself. "Sorry, Ethan, you're becoming
mainstream."

"No!" Ethan cried. "Give me that," he said, grabbing for the
papers.

At that moment, the phone rang. "Matthew Broderick," Matt said
into the phone. "Oh hi Freddie. Ethan's busy denying that critics
are starting to like him. Okay, I'll tell him." He called out to
Ethan who had fled into the bedroom, "Hi Eth, your play is selling
like hot cakes so Freddie and your colleagues have decided to
extend the run." Matthew winced when he heard something shatter in
the room. "Don't throw any of my things, Eth," he called, before
returning to the phone. "Ethan's definitely in denial."

At that moment, Ethan's scowling face appeared from the bedroom
door. "Tell Freddie I'm blaming that dancer of his for this
nightmare. Every half-assed critic can't rave enough about Doug's
dancing and it's ruining my credibility! Freddie should know
better than to listen to me in the first place," he said. "That
Doug is dragging my ass right into the popular limelight. God, I
feel as if I'm selling out already!"

"Congrats on your newfound sense of commitment," Matt told
Freddie. "Good luck with Doug. I saw him dance, and I have to
agree with you. Finest piece of ass I've ever seen, you lucky
bastard." Matt shook his head when he heard something heavy crash
against the wall. "Look, Freddie, I have to go see to Ethan. See
you soon?"

Matt hanged up and walked to the bedroom. He leaned against the
door and crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing at the sight of
Ethan's briefcase thrown open, its contents scattered all over the
floor, and the shattered glass ashtray at a corner of the room.

"I didn't break anything of yours," Ethan said sheepishly when he
saw Matt's face. "Will you punish me?" he asked hopefully.

Matt calmly loosened his cuffs as he walked into the room and shut
the door behind him.
