THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Michael

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.


PROLOGUE

It was an eternity of a night. He walked the night like a true
night creature, the coldness of his solitude cutting through heavy
woolen-checkered shirt and T-shirt underneath to bite into every
bone in his body. He shivered slightly, hands deep in his pockets.

It would be so easy to walk in front of a car. A part of him
wanted to live however, no matter how cold the pain would be.
Logic told him he'd survive, and eventually he could even smile.
At the moment, however, he wanted to wallow in self-pity.

West 78th Street was quieter than it was during the earlier part
of the day. At 2 am, it was a perfect silence, the tranquility
gently accompanied by almost distant sounds of the occasional
vehicle and the few people still awake. It was the silence he
needed; yet it only made him even more aware than ever, that he
was alone. As always.

Then he heard it. The faint sounds of laughter. The last thing he
needed was to be among happy people, yet his feet, without any
prompting, moved in that direction. He didn't know where he was
going, his senses tuned out except for his hearing. There, he
could hear them laughing, cheering, talking. He could even hear
the faint strains of the piano. Like a moth attracted to the
blazing furnace, he needed to at least find out the source of good
cheer and will.

He didn't know how long or far he'd walked, but he found himself
standing before the huge glass windowpane of the Art Brigadiers
Workshop. He stood there, watching at the people inside laughing
and toasting. He hated their good cheer. He wanted their good
cheer. Lost in watching them, he was startled when he heard a
cough beside him.

A man with sad-looking eyes smiled at him. "Hi there. You look
like you need company. Wanna come in?"

It had to be the dust in the night, for his eyes blurred, watered.
"What?"

"Wanna come in? I'm Ethan. Come on, you look like you'll need some
perking up. Fortunately for you we're having a birthday party for
a friend who just reached the big three-oh." Ethan looked him up
and down. "I have an extra phantom of the opera mask here. You can
use that to blend it."

"Sure." He looked up at the night sky briefly, silently thanking
whoever that looked after lost souls tonight. "Thank you."



Michael Vartan was everybody's favorite man. He knew that. He was
well aware of his golden looks, the way his smile deepened his
dimples appealingly, his laugh lines crinkling in a totally
irresistible way to induce his listeners to smile and laugh. The
few lines that appeared on his forehead after his twenty-eighth
birthday only added an air of seriousness that he was hard-pressed
to produce before. Even his name was easy to remember, just call
me Mike. He could crumble defenses, placate the outraged, and make
almost everyone love him.

If he wanted to. Right now he was sorely taxed to maintain a smile
on his aching mouth. "Keep them busy, I've had enough," he'd
whispered into Ethan's ear, before extricating himself from Count
Draculas, Frankenstein Monsters, and even a few Teletubbies.

The Brigadiers place had a second floor. Once an art gallery, the
once display rooms were now converted into exhibition rooms for
theatre achievements and history. Some became rooms where visitors
could relax in. Others, those farthest from the main hallways,
were prop rooms. Mike nodded to those roaming the walkways, taking
care not to let conversations go too long. When he finally found a
dark unoccupied room he slipped into it and shut the door with a
sigh of relief.

Alone at last.

The glint from a Phantom of the Opera mask from a dark corner
caught his eye, killing his hope of solitude. Mike's frown faded
into a reluctant smile however when he heard soft snoring from the
person in the shadows. He couldn't help himself, like a moth
attracted to a blazing inferno he had to see this person. If
anything, it'd be a welcome diversion after hours of inane
laughing and socializing.

The man sure had picked a dramatically atmospheric spot to sleep.
He slept on a couch facing the glass pane that allowed the
streetlamps outside to stream in, dancing over the sleeping man's
form. He was beautiful, Mike thought almost stupidly as he gazed
down at the man. Tall, well built if slender, the man was the
perfect dark dissolute lord of night. The phantom mask hid the top
half of his face, leaving strong chiseled jaw and strong
aristocratic nose to Mike's perusal. Those lips opened slightly
with each snore, lusciously tempting. Mike went to one knee beside
the man, his hand reaching out but not daring to touch the stubble
on the man's jaw. "You're a beautiful creature," he breathed
softly, suddenly terrified of waking up the man. He slowly,
lightly touched his finger at the carotid vein of the man's neck,
feeling the smooth skin lightly moistened by a thin film of sweat.
He brought the finger to his lips and wet his lips, feeling his
blood burned at the sight of this man. What he wouldn't give to
possess this man.

And why shouldn't he possess this man? Today was his thirtieth
birthday, and he deserved a gift. Running his finger along his
lower lip, he turned and walked out the door.

Ten minutes later Ethan received felt a hand around his shoulder.

"Listen Ethan, I want you to get everyone here out, including you.
And leave me the keys," Mike said.

Ethan grinned. "Found a birthday gift huh? Here." He slipped a
package into Mike's shirt pocket. "No problem, consider it done,
buddy. Say, have you seen my friend, the guy I brought in an hour
ago? Name's Jason or something."



When Jason opened his eyes he thought he was in heaven. The
apparition before him was dazzling. The streetlamp bestowed upon
the man an ethereal fey beauty. The man's hair shone golden in the
light, though Jason's common sense told him it was probably light
brown. The man wasn't masked, bedecked instead in a Robin Hood
inspired brilliant green brocade shirt and brown-green tights that
revealed rather shapely thighs. His friendly face was warm, open,
those wonderful laugh lines around his mouth and eyes, the few
lines on his forehead and the deep dimples when he smiled made
Jason's heart ache. Here was enchantment, an angel surely. No mere
mortal could be this beautiful, could they?

He reached out a shaky right hand and touched the apparition's
cheek with his palm. Warmth. This man was real. "You're real," he
said rather stupidly, feeling a flood of heat in his heart. Warmth
kindled from sheer relief that he'd been found by a man as
glorious as this, and fear for his heart.

The man caught hold of Jason's hand and pressed it against his
cheek. Jason could feel the slight stubble of the man under his
palm, and shivered as a chill climbed up his spine.

"You're awake," the man said, smiling like the brightest of suns.
"Good evening."

"Oh God!" Jason jumped off the couch and looked at his wristwatch.
"What time is it?" As he became more aware to his surroundings, he
began to panic. "I gotta go." He knew, deep deep into his bones,
that this man would destroy him. OK, that sounded horribly
overwrought, but Jason doubted he wanted any more emotional
turbulence at this point in his life.

Mike let the other man's hand fell from his cheek, but he didn't
release him. "Come on, don't go yet. Come talk to me."

Whatever Jason tried to say what cut off when, with a grace still
evident from his days being a figure skater, Mike reeled the man
in, tugging persuasively at the other man's hand. "Sssh," he
whispered, his left hand going around the man's waist, securing
Jason to him. "You can tell me no later Jason." He lowered his
head, his tongue slowly tracing Jason's lips, moistening them as
his left hand reached and hiked Jason's thigh to straddle his.
"Let me make you happy," he murmured, racking his memory for some
sweet nothings - not easy, considering his now-rusty pick-up
skills. "You have slain me."

Jason couldn't think. His ability to think seemed to have melted
in the heat of the other man's onslaught; he craved the man's
touch, arching his neck back and pressing his chest to the other
man's, his fingers digging into his back so painfully the other
man groaned, pulling Jason off his feet and causing them both to
fall onto the couch. Jason found himself looking into those
brilliant blue-green eyes, drowning in the desire, laughter, and
promise of oblivion in them. Again, he was in awe at the beauty of
the other man, who was so much like sunshine and fire. And when he
almost reverently ran his finger along the bridge of that regal
nose, he saw in those eyes lust, yearning, and he felt like he was
the most precious thing in the world.

"Mike," he heard the man murmured, he asked back, "What?"

"My name's Mike. Say it." Mike kissed slowly each of Jason's
fingertips, the cool heat of the man's mouth searing him worse
than the hottest fires. "Say my name and I'll let you have it."

The voice, in low sultry murmur, broke whatever vestiges of
Jason's remaining defenses. "Mike," he said. "Mike Mike Mike Mike
Mike." Mike smiled, a grin full of promise and brightness, that
when he pulled Jason down to him.

It wasn't easy, but Jason was bulkier and more robust than Mike,
and Mike emitted a choked laugh when the man fell on him heavily.
"Here, let me see you," he murmured, gently pulling at the strings
of Jason's mask.

"Please, no," Jason protested weakly, suddenly panicking at the
thought of the most handsome man on earth seeing his face and
finding him wanting.

Too late. Mike let the mask fall to the floor, and Jason saw the
man's already glittering eyes darkened in the candlelight, saw the
man's silent expulsion of breath. "You're beautiful," he heard the
man say almost reverently - trite words, of course, but Jason felt
as if he had just received a benediction. "Let me look at you,:
Mike said, capping his face in his surprisingly calloused hands,
and Jason let him look.

They didn't kiss, not yet. The lust that ignited flared into
sudden conflagration, without warning. Jason lost control, tearing
at the buttons of Mike's costumes, and gasping when he felt Mike's
bare chest on him. Just one tug at his zipper, then his thick cock
sprang free, and then Mike was on him, one hand gripping his cock
and gently coating him with rubber, then guiding him deep into the
warm, tight groove between Mike's legs - how did Mike remove his
pants so fast? - then Jason surged forward. Just one thrust to the
hilt, his balls pressed against Mike's buttocks, his head against
Mike's chest, and he was coming hard, pouring himself into Mike in
one cataclysmic insensate climax.



He would never tire of listening to Mike laugh, Jase thought,
dazed, as he looked at the man under him. Still buried in Mike, he
flexed his buttocks, letting his half-erect cock deeper one inch
before reluctantly withdrawing.

Mike raised himself, balancing his weight on his elbows. "You
better do that just to change the rubber." He sighed. "God, this
is the best birthday of my life."

Jason felt heat rising on his face. "Sorry," he murmured, bending
to retrieve his pants. He'd blew it - he couldn't even fuck a man
without losing control. Mike had laughed too. His face burned. "I
just lost it, I mean, you are so beautiful and I can't believe a
man like you would even look at me and I just lost it," he
concluded miserably.

"Hey, buddy, I'm not laughing at you coming like that," Mike said,
his tone consoling, as he grasped Jase's hand and pulled the man
back to the couch. "One thrust is fast, I give you that, but
that's okay. Now come here."

"Why?"

Mike grinned. "Come here and give me a blow job. If you're good I
may just let you have my ass again."

"I'd rather have you have my ass," Jase murmured, looking at the
fierce erection pressing insistently at his stomach. He looked at
Mike and went down.

"Oh, and that too," Mike murmured, closing his eyes in bliss when
he felt Jase's mouth closing over his tumescence.



Gentle hands shook Mike awake. He opened his eyes slightly and
winced when bright sunlight assaulted his sight. "Pull back the
curtains Jase, and come back here."

Ronan coughed. Ethan chuckled. Muttering a cuss, Mike sat up and
looked around him. "Where is Jason?"

"You're right Ethan," Ronan said, tenderly kicking away some used
condoms with the tip of his shoe. "Our birthday boy got himself a
wonderful gift last night. One, two, three, four, and I think
there're two more under that chair."

"Talk about stamina. You're going to be sore," Ethan said,
throwing Mike's jeans at him. "Get dressed. The cleaners are here
and I don't think you want them to find you in this condition."
Ethan picked up a few empty boxes from the floor. "Mike, I gave
you three packs of rubber, but you don't have to use them all."

"Oh fuck off, both of you. Where's Jason?" Pulling on his tights,
he looked around him.

"Jason? Isn't he the guy I brought in with me last night?" Ethan
wondered.

"You fucked one of Ethan's strays?" Ronan asked. Ethan was too
self-absorbed most of the time, but he had the knack of detecting
emotionally down people for his random acts of kindness. "God, I
hope the poor man isn't jumping off the bridge now or something."

Mike didn't hear him. All his attention was focused on the writing
on the back of his business card he found tucked under an ashtray
on the table. He read the words slowly, the roaring in his head
drowning out his awareness of anything but the words.

"Mike, thanks for last night. You may not know it, but you've
saved me. I will always be grateful, and I won't forget you. J"

"Mike? You OK?" Ronan shook him gently. Mike shook off the
emotional turmoil that threatened to rage. "I'm OK. I'm hungry.
Anyone for breakfast?" he asked, forcing himself to look like he
always did, gallant, happy, cheerful. Careful to keep the lid on
his anger, a smile on his face, he took a steadying breath.

He'd find that bastard. When he did, and he would, well, Jason
would pay. Oh yes, he'd pay.



ONE

Today

At nine o' clock in the night Michael Vartan cleared up his desk.
As was his habit, he'd straighten the plaque that read "Michael
Vartan: Credit Manager" and pile up whatever paperwork needed to
be finished in order of priority. And as was his usual routine,
he'd take up the shopping list of the things he'd buy for his
neighbors. It was his luck - or misfortune - to be the only
resident on Clinton St Heart to be under 60 and still possess the
ability to walk without wincing from arthritis and osteoporosis.
He'd bought his stepfather the place, moved in there after his
rehab to take care of the old man, and when the old man passed
away in his sleep, Mike didn't bother to move out. He rather liked
living among these old people. They didn't make him feel angry.

He greeted those of his colleagues that he met on his way to the
elevator. He had a smile for everyone; a greeting that pushed
buttons and probably makes him or her feel better. An enquiry
about Marsha's upcoming operation, an early birthday greeting to
John and a promise to attend his birthday party, a nice comment to
the new secretary about her hair. sometimes he amazed himself at
his seemingly endless capability to remember things about everyone
around him. And if he was honest to himself, it wasn't something
he was proud of. The whole being-nice-to-everyone attitude became
very tiring at times. It made him look like a complete pushover
too.

He pulled the shopping list out of his pocket. He bit his lower
lip, suddenly feeling weary and fed-up with life. Light bulbs for
Mrs Smithee, six cans of tuna fish for Mr Frost's cats, et cetera,
the list was long and no one who contributed to the list actually
paid for the things he or she wanted. Mike had to ask them for
COD. He wanted to throw things, break something - if he had an AK-
47 many people would just die, starting with.

"Oh God," he whispered, clamping down on his thoughts.

The elevator doors opened quietly. Mike looked at the empty square
space, frozen, his breathing becoming increasingly laboured with
each passing moment. He hated violent thoughts, he had never
wanted to feel any negative thoughts if he could help it. No more,
not after that day he screwed up bad and lost his mind. He
clenched his fingers, gripping hard on his briefcase. When his
breathing steadied and his blood cooled, he found himself looking
at the closed doors of the elevator. With a steadying breath, he
forced a weak smile on his face. "Maybe you ought to walk,
Michael," he told himself, walking towards the stairs.

The stairs were pretty deserted, as most sensible people preferred
the conveniences of modern technology. Humming to the tune of
Carly Simon's 'Let The Rivers Run', he felt better when he reached
the ninth floor. As the stairs led straight to the basement car
park, there were no other persons using the stairs. Which was
good, as Mike was sure he couldn't be nice to anyone at the
moment. He felt a little more of his old self at the fifth floor,
for despite sweat trickling down his neck and soaking his
undershirt, he could sway a little to the tune he was humming.
"'We're comin' to the edge, runnin' on the water, we're comin'
through the fog, your sons and daughters. Let the rivers ru-uuu-uu-
uuuu-un!" he sang, then paused, as he couldn't remember the next
line. Oh well. He broke into a French nursery rhyme.

Those dear songs, he thought, as he sang the songs he knew by
rote, songs drilled into him by his grandmother in the time when
he was still a little boy in Fleur. He never regretted coming to
America when he was eighteen, but he sometimes missed her. The
dear old lady kept him in line. Without her, in America, he ran
wild, an innocent country boy for the first time in his life given
a free rein to indulge in anything, to do anything, without any
recriminations from his strict Catholic papa and grandmother. His
Maman was a rather careless parent. There was nothing to stop Mike
from experimenting with sex and drugs, and it was during these
hellish times he discovered the demonic side of him. After detox
and rehab, he had kept away his ice-skates, thrown away his ice-
skating trophies, and started life with a clean slate. He hadn't
touched a joint or alcohol in five years, even when the withdrawal
effects in that first year after he came clean were pure hell. He
was determined to be a new man.

In a way he had succeeded, Mike mused. He had new friends, friends
who stood by him in thin times. He played pool with them, he
learnt poker from them, and a few of them supported the Mets like
he did. His life was stable. And he had made sure, so hard, that
he never felt angry. He never wanted to feel angry again. It
scared even himself the things he could do when he lost his
temper.

Ethan had slipped him a card the other day. "Go see Doc," the man
said, referring to his lover who was a shrink. "You need help."

No, he need not any help. So what if he was a little moody, his
barbs became slightly more sarcastic and bitter? He hadn't lost
his temper when the guys teased him about his crankiness. His life
was okay, perfect even. He had even forgotten that man who walked
out on him a couple of months back. The sex wasn't even good. Mike
sighed. Okay, the man's name was Jason. It was five months back
and thirteen days. If truth be told, he couldn't remember if the
sex was good, for all he could remember was holding Jason's face
in his hands, the both of them laughing, and the pleasure Mike
felt when he saw the sadness in Jason's eyes faded somewhat (that
made Mike feel like a king, a god who could do anything). So what
if he'd blown up three months' worth of paycheck in private
investigator fees to find the elusive Jason? He wasn't Prince
Charming chasing after Cinderella, hell; he hadn't even a glass
slipper of a clue how to look for Jason.

Which was why he thought he was hallucinating when Jason came into
his view, mopping the stairs, wearing a cleaner's overalls.

Mike almost dropped his briefcase. He caught himself, hanging on
to the railing, when the strength in his legs evaporated. He just
stood there, struck dumb, bereft of his faculties. The first thing
he felt when rational thought returned what seemed centuries later
was keen disappointment. Jason wasn't that beautiful. In fact, he
could walk pass Mike in the street, and Mike wouldn't give him a
second look. It was too late, however, for him, for even now he
could feel the imprints of Jason's hands and mouth as if burning
on every inch of his body. He couldn't understand it - Jason was
supposed to be nothing more than a diversion. He hated his intense
reaction to this man even after months had passed, hated him for
daring to come back into his life when Mike had almost gotten over
him.

"Hello Jason," he said, surprised by his calm voice. Inside, he
was struggling hard to control his emotions. It terrified him,
this wild turmoil of immense joy mingled with a need to make Jason
hurt and angry like Jason did Mike.

Jason froze, and looked up. Mike couldn't help feeling a surge of
satisfaction as Jason's face paled. The man, in fact, took on a
hunted expression. Those hands went limp, letting the mop fall to
the floor with a clatter.

"Mike?" the man said in a stunned voice.

"Oh come on, don't look like that. It's a bit extreme of a
reaction to seeing the man you walked out on months before." Mike
walked towards the man. "I didn't know you work here."

"Oh, oh no, I just started working here." Jason bent to pick up
the fallen mop, and Mike hated himself for glancing at the
stretching of the other man's trousers over those buttocks. They
looked as good as he remembered, and those memories were slowly
coming back. "Actually I'm now employed by a professional cleaning
team," Jason explained. "I come here around seven every Tuesday
and Friday and do some general cleaning."

"Lucky for me I worked late tonight then." Mike grinned, and
watched Jason retreated slightly. Perhaps he looked a little
predatory, vengeful, out for blood. He didn't care. "Not every day
a man walks away from my bed."

"I was sure you'll forget me," Jason said, looking at the floor.
"I'm surprised you remember me."

Mike seized the man's hands, ignoring Jason's exclamation of
surprise, and pressed them to his chest. "How can I forget you?
Feel this? I can feel your hands on me, on this exact spot, even
after five months. Five fucking months! You've marked me, branded
me with your touch. How the fuck can I forget?" he said, aware
that his voice was rising beyond his control, but not caring. It
felt good to shout.

Jason struggled to break free. "You're crazy."

"If I'm crazy you wouldn't be standing here. I'd have pinned you
to the ground, taking you right here regardless of who will catch
us. I would have had you, and I'd fuck you until you can't even
get up. I'd fuck you until I get every bloody drop of you out of
my system, and then I'd fuck you some more. So God help me, just
be glad that I'm not crazy. You don't want me crazy."



Jason felt panic as he stared at the wild-eyed man holding him in
an iron grip, his terrified mind couldn't reconcile this feral,
almost crazed man with the gentle, laughing man who saved his
soul. That man actually bared his teeth, just like an enraged
rottweiler out for blood. Survival instinct took over. Jason
purposely fell back, as if his legs had given way. When Mike
loosened his grip to steady them both, Jason slammed his knee into
the man's groin. Mike grunted, doubled over in agony. Freed, Jason
stepped back, reaching into his pocket for his pocketknife.

He held the pocketknife before him. "Stay back."

Mike was still on the floor, doubled over, hands clutching his
balls. Jason began edging towards the door, hoping Carlos, his
work buddy was nearby to be summoned for help. Yet. yet. he might
have gone crazy himself, for he was filled with concern that he'd
injured that man.

"That's a good trick." Mike looked up after a thousand heartbeats;
Jason took a step back. The transformation was almost eerie in its
abruptness - Mike's eyes were now clear of the crazed rage that
burned earlier. The man smiled, those dimples deepening into
appealing grooves. Jason didn't know what to think. Perhaps this
was how victims of Ted Bundy felt like seconds before their death.

"Carlos," he started to cry out. "Carlos, help!"

Mike shook his head. "Oh stop the hysterics. I won't hurt you." He
placed a finger at Jason's lips. "Hush. I won't hurt you. I've
never hurt anybody." In five years, but Mike would never tell
Jason that. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry love. Ssssh."

Jason wanted to believe him. A part of him, that foolish beating
heart, did. "I've gotta go," he croaked.

Mike just stood there. He didn't stop Jason from picking up the
mop and pail. Jason turned to look back when he was safely out the
door, and his heart broke when he saw Mike, the man's head against
the wall, not moving. His heart broke.

Foolish, dumb heart.



TWO

"You should've told me Mike works there," Jason Teresi told the
man sitting on his desk. "I would've asked someone to fill in for
me."

Ethan looked around the man's small, rather shabby room. Jason
rented a room in an apartment belonging to an old couple. The room
might be small, but the many, many things it contained made it
look even more cramped. Ethan noted two bookshelves on one wall,
filled to the brim with science fiction and fantasy novels, and
there were more books in boxes in a corner of the room as well. A
computer hooked up to a modem rested on a small table, surrounded
by some novels, entertainment magazines, and a family photo. With
the bed and cupboard fighting for space as well, it was a wonder
how Jason could find space for the desk Ethan was sitting on, a
desk-with-cabinet affair that housed a small CD player, TV, phone,
and a small selection of new age CDs. The room was very neat,
however. Ethan never could understand neat people.

He turned his attention to his new friend. "Believe me, it didn't
cross my mind Mike will remember you, no offense," he said, may
Doc forgive him for lying. It was well known to those close to
Mike that that poor man wasn't the same since the big three-oh.
Brian suggested that perhaps the continuous (and unnatural, in his
opinion) happy-la-la behavior had driven poor Mike bonkers, a case
of premature senility. Ethan, however, remembered Jason and
wondered. The fact that Mike lost control today when he met Jason
made one pause and think.

"None taken." Jason said it so matter-of-factly that Ethan
frowned. True, Jason was rather plain, but there was a really
distant don't-touch-me air around him that someone like Mike might
found challenging. "It's just that he seems crazy."

"He is crazy." Ethan watched the play of emotions on Jason's face.
That man's eyes couldn't hide anything, Ethan thought, watching
confusion reign in Jason's eyes. "Always going around saying nice
things and doing nice things for everybody. I'd say it's creepy.
I'm always trying to get him mad just to see if he can feel
anything but Barney feelings."

"Trust me, when he's mad it's not a pleasant thing to be in his
vicinity."

A cleaner who used the word 'vicinity'. Ethan made a mental note
to ask around for Jason's background. "He didn't hurt you, did
he?" he asked, couldn't really imagining Mike killing a bug.

Jason rubbed his wrists. "Not even a bruise." Mike was all bark,
no bite. So far. He didn't want to find out how far that theory
went. "Still, I don't know." He shut his eyes, remembering the
man's rage, the barely restrained violence superimposed with the
soft touch of him, the feel of his fingers running down his spine,
that soft tender voice whispering love words in French that growl
threatening violence. "Oh Ethan, I'm so confused. He really was
angry that I walked out on him. Could it be I've hurt him that
much? It was only one night."

Ethan thought of Mike's brooding look when the man thought no one
was looking, of Mike's increasing absence from social events.
"Well, like you said, it was only one night. But I fell in love in
one night too, so I'm biased. Maybe he fell for you that night.
How do you feel about him?"

Jason shook his head as if trying to shake off a mist of confusion
from his mind. "I don't know. I really don't know."

Ethan looked at the man, feeling some reluctant pity. He knew what
Jason was feeling. "Maybe you should stay away from him until
you've made up your mind." He decided to change the topic. "So,
you thought about signing up with the volunteer playhouse program
yet? It'll be good to practice those acting skills I'm teaching
you in night class."



Jason received the flowers the next day after he and Carlos came
back to the HQ after a long day of cleaning up a morgue. "You
lucky bastard," his boss said, clapping him in the back, "Got some
flowers for you. Clara is holding them for you."

They were daffodils, six of them, wrapped in crinkly shiny paper.
Probably fancy florist stuff, he decided, opening the envelope and
reading the card. Sorry, forgive me? Mike. Just his luck, when
someone actually felt some interest in him, that someone had to be
borderline psycho. Jason made to throw the daffodils into the
trash bin, and then hesitated. Why was he so afraid? He lifted the
daffodils to his nose. No one had actually given him anything
before, and he felt reluctance to throw these flowers away.

"Hey, who gave you these flowers?" Carlos asked when they came out
of the shower, the scent of corpses washed off by soap and talc.

"A nutcase," Jason said, pulling on a clean shirt.

He felt the resurgence of fear, however, when he stepped out of
the HQ to see the psycho in question leaning against his Mercedes.
Mike straightened when he saw him, and flashed that brilliant
smile while - perhaps instinctively - straightening his bowtie.
Jason felt the painful tug of yearning in his heart, as he took in
the sight of Mike in black tux and white shirt, the monotony
relieved by dark violet bowtie and a bright red wrap around the
waist. He looked exactly like one of those models from GQ.

He'd read somewhere that moonlight hid all flaws and memory erased
them. Now, seeing Mike again, he could agree to that statement.
Mike was handsome, yes, in a golden all-rounder way, but Jason
could see subtle signs of Mike's recovering from emaciation. The
body was a little too thin to be considered hale or hearty, but
the eyes were the worst. Too brilliant in their glitter, their
intensity was almost painful to see.

"It's unnatural to force yourself to be this cheerful when you
don't feel it," Jason said, and then gasped when he realized he'd
said his thoughts aloud.

Mike's smile didn't waver. "If that's so maybe you can be the one
to teach me the way to break that habit." He opened the front
door. "Get in."

"I'll take the bus," Jason said, retreating.

"Oh come on, I'm not going to go crazy and murder you. I'm just
taking you to dinner." Mike gestured into the car. "Come on, just
dinner. You owe me that much."

"I owe you? What nonsense!"

"What must I do to get you into the car?" Mike screwed up his face
in an exaggerated expression of puzzlement and deep thought. Jason
couldn't help it; he felt his lips tug into a smile. "There, you
see, you're smiling. That's good, isn't it? Now be a good boy and
step into my parlor, err, car."

He'd probably regret this, but he asked anyway, "Where are we
going?"

"I'm planning on keeping it a surprise, but I don't think that's
wise under the circumstances. We're going to the Grove at Bleecker
Street, where they have these wonderful Maine salmon. Come on
dear. I have a table reserved for us both."



Mike's good cheer was infectious. Jason just couldn't go back to
his cramped room and eat pizza alone. Maybe Ethan was right; maybe
he should relax a little and enjoy life. How more fun could life
be by eating salmon with a psycho? He took a deep breath - he
would probably regret this - and stepped into the car.

Mike closed the door and walked around to his side of the car. The
first thing he did after switching on the ignition was to remove
an automatic from the compartment and handed it to Jason. Jason
eyed the weapon, stunned.

"Take it. If my eyes turn red and smoke emerges from my nostrils,
use it on me. C'mon, I know you'll feel more comfortable with me
with this darling in your pockets or something. I don't blame you,
but I rather want you feeling comfortable with me tonight."

Jason opened the compartment, and shoved the weapon back inside.
"You're fucking crazy, you know that? Brandishing that gun in my
face will not make me comfortable." He inched as far away from the
man, feeling the interior of the car closing in around him. "I
hope it's registered."

"I think it is. I sort of borrowed it from a friend who's in
security business. They probably have their guns registered all
the time." Mike turned to Jason. "Look, I know you think I'm some
sort of madman. I'm not. I'll be grateful if you'll let me explain
things to you over dinner. Maybe you'll like me better to let me
take you out on a second date. If you don't trust me to behave in
a public place, there's always the automatic."

Somehow Jason couldn't find it in his heart to disappoint this
man. Not when Mike looked at him, expression boyishly earnest. It
was terrifying to realize it would be hard to say no to him.



"So that is where you live," Mike said as they walked down the
stairs. "You know, there is much more room in Clinton Street
Heart, which is where I live by the way."

Jason felt the back of his neck itch where it was in contact with
the starched collar of his shirt. He hadn't worn his single suit
in years, ever since he left the Roseate think-tank and there was
no more chaos conference to attend. Funny, he'd never thought of
those years he'd spent secluded with other chaos specialists, when
his days were then filled with complicated problem-solving and
never-ending computer simulation works. He had always believed he
hated those days, but now he could feel a twinge of nostalgia too.
It wasn't as bad as he'd imagined, he now realized. He did enjoy
his work somewhat.

"Why are you smiling?" Mike opened the car door for him, a
veritable gentleman.

"About my old job. I was a chaos specialist." Jason pulled on the
safety belt around him.

"Really?" Mike cast him a disbelieving glance as he started the
Merc. "You're a scientist?"

"I was a child genius." Strange, it felt good to talk about his
past. "I got my PhD in Physics when I was eighteen, and I moved
straight from MIT to Roseate soon after. I studied chaos and order
in randomness for seven years, got a nervous breakdown last year,
and now I'm a cleaning fellow. My life story."

"Wow. I never imagined. You, a scientist," said Mike. "You know, I
barely passed college. I was more interested in baseball, skating,
and playing pool."

"I always thought you were the golden valedictorian-type."

"Must be my looks huh?" Mike looked at Jason and ran a finger
along the man's cheek. He felt the man shiver slightly; good, Mike
wanted Jason to feel like him at the moment, almost rabid with
barely restrained lust. Just touching him now, the feel of the
smooth warm skin almost drove him out of his mind. Somehow Jason
could make him go out of control when no one could. Jason tested
his restraint. And damn it, it felt good to lose control with
Jason. Yet Mike knew stopping the car and forcing himself on Jason
wasn't exactly civilized gentleman behavior. Especially after he
had vowed to be Mr Polite and Sensitive. Oh yes, he had no doubt
he could make Jason want it too, but hell, it would probably scare
that man away afterwards.

What was Jason so afraid of?

Undoubtedly of his loss of control the other day, and Mike, for
the millionth time, cursed his lapse. He had always been so
careful, so restrained to keep whatever impulses he had in check.
He could blame his insane loss of control on his surprise at
seeing Jason, yet even now, when he'd spent an hour telling
himself to control himself, be nice and friendly and polite and
goddamned pleasant, before his meeting with Mike, he was still
having a hard time keeping his need in check. When he saw Jason in
tuxedo, the beautiful contrast of black on white, he was reminded
forcibly of Jason's beauty, the passion the man responded with to
Mike's touch, and it was all Mike could do not to drool.

"Not really. It's just that you're so brilliant, charming.
Everyone must like you in school." Jason said it almost bitterly,
remembering his own schooldays. He never had any more than one or
two friends, and even those were intellectual partners, fellow
nerds who were just as socially inept and self-absorbed as he.

"Not really. I was a good Catholic kid, raised by my strict father
and grandmother to be good and pious. They did it too well, I'm
afraid, to an extent that even I couldn't stand myself." Mike
chuckled. "I was a boring kid too afraid to do anything. I just
sat there in the back of the class."

"So did I." He wanted so much to blend into the wallpaper; so
afraid the teacher would call him to answer a question, in fear
that his classmates would further avoid him. "I was too smart, an
eight year old in a class of fifteen year olds. Not exactly an
ideal study environment."

"I can imagine. They probably bullied you silly," said Mike. "Me,
I couldn't wait to graduate. I was eighteen, and never been out of
Fleur, my hometown in France - did I tell you that? No? Anyway
there I was, an eighteen year-old virgin who never had a date.
When my mother - who lived in Manhattan, still do today, after
divorcing my Papa - invited me to move over to America, I jumped
plane the earliest opportunity."

"I bet you got laid immediately after," Jason said, biting his
tongue from sounding bitter. He thought of all those men who
probably graced Mike's bed with regular frequency, and hated
himself for wanting to kill every one of them with his bare hands.
He couldn't bare the thought of Mike looking at some faceless
stranger the way he looked at Jason that night, the way that made
Jason feel as if, for once in his life, he was loved, that he
belonged. "And had the time of your life enjoying America."

"Oh yes I did. The first thing I did upon landing from the plane
was to buy a pack of Marlboros and almost choked to death trying
to smoke. I went to college, took up figure skating, became
professional when I graduated, and generally enjoyed life. Drugs,
sex, you name it, I've done it." Mike made a turn. "Believe me,
Jase, when I say the wild life is overrated. I woke up one day and
realized I had to go straight, and here I am, gainfully employed,
an exemplary citizen (I have a green card, I can show it to you if
you want), and have no longer any major vices apart from poker,
pool, and watching baseball. I'll make a perfect husband, don't
you think?"

Jason's heart stopped, he could swear it did. "Is that a
proposal?" It couldn't be, of course. Don't be silly.

"If you want to think of it as a proposal, feel free to say yes.
I'm willing if you're willing."

Mike didn't touch Jason, but Jason could feel every part of him so
aware of the man beside him: Mike's latent desire, the man's sheer
masculinity, the danger. "Why?" he couldn't help asking. "Why me?"

"I don't know," Mike answered honestly. "I really don't know.
Look, I'm not sure what I want from you. I know I shouldn't tell
you this, but I actually want to take you to the Grove and see you
embarrass yourself when you don't know how to use the correct fork
and spoon. I intend to take you to a party afterwards and make you
miserable by ignoring you and letting the other guests laugh at
your gaucheness. I want to see you humiliated. Now, don't look at
me that way dear. I don't intend to carry them out. Not if you
tell me why you walk out on me that day."

How humiliating to think Mike actually wanted his presence at
dinner for just that, his presence. Jason couldn't even muster up
the anger at this man. "It's okay if you bring me out here just to
play some stupid revenge act on me. I'm used to it. Oh well, I
guess you have the right to know why I left. It's because I'm
afraid. I actually am terrified that you'll see me in the morning
and say that you took me because you were drunk, or turn away and
treat the whole thing as a one-night-stand. I'd rather walk away."

"That's ridiculous!" Mike exclaimed. "You mean you walk away
because you think I'll dump you the morning after?" Seeing Jason's
who-are-you-kidding expression, he sighed. "Okay, I don't blame
you. You're probably one of those people who never could let
anyone close to them. Horrible childhood and all that. Oprah said
that, if I'm not mistaken. We'll have to work at that."

"'We'? You mean.?"

"Yeah, I mean we. You and me, going out on dates and get to know
each other better, that's what I mean. If you like, we'll go
traditional and kiss only after the third date, though I don't see
why since we've already done more than kiss. I'm good at dates.
I'm good at making people happy." Mike grinned. "You'll be the
luckiest man on earth."

"What an ego," Jason muttered.

"But you're smiling. See? I made you smile."

"I'm not smiling! I'm sneering. That's a different thing!" Jason
fought to keep his mouth in a grim line. "Besides, I think I
should tell you that I do know my table etiquette. Let's see if I
remember. Ah yes. Fork positioned at eleven o' clock to let the
waiter know you've finished the meal. Hold fork in left hand,
tines downward, while cutting the meat. After the meat is cut, put
the knife down on the plate, transfer fork to right hand. However,
since you're half-French and I'm half-Italian, we can use the
European style in that the fork can be held in the left hand
throughout except while cutting, in which the abovementioned."

"Hold it! Give me a break. Are you quoting from Miss Manners?"
Mike shook his head ruefully. "Serves me right, you probably have
better table manners than me. Me, I use the European style because
I'm left-handed, simple as that."

"Actually when I was a scientist I had to learn table etiquette.
Scientists do a lot of dinners to impress out grant donors. That's
why I bought the suit too, though it cost me a bomb."

Mike looked around him and made another turn. "Jase, do you really
wanna go to the Grove?"

"What do you have in my mind?"

"Well, we could get a couple of Big Macs and play pool."

"I can't play pool."

"I'll teach you. It's just shafts and balls and holes. You'll be
great in it." Mike picked up the mobile phone and dialed the
Grove's number. "Now watch the road for me while I cancel our
reservation."

Jason decided not to point out that he hadn't actually agreed to
play pool. A pity, for he was looking forward to some smoked
salmons. However, Mike would undoubtedly make up for it. When Mike
was being the way he was now, it was so easy to forget the
violence Mike was possible of.


THREE

Jeremy Northam watched in satisfaction as he sent another ball
into a hole with deadly accuracy. Stephen Gately rolled up his
eyes in boredom, for he had been standing there watching his
friend play pool for the better half of the hour while he himself
managed to hit a ball only once or twice. Pool was so over-rated,
he decided, and resigned himself to watching Jeremy clear the
table and make him $50 poorer by the end of the night. Next time,
he'd sit down and watch 'The Sound of Music' for the sixth time
and die before he'd try his hand at pool again.

"Pool sucks. If I want fun I'd go to a real pool and ogle the
lifeguard," he declared, making his way to the drink machine.

"Well, well, look who's here? Mr Popularity has brought a date,"
Jeremy said, straightening up. "Hey Mike!" he called to the man
who just walked into Lazly Den's Pool House. "Glad you're here.
Steo here can't play to save his life. Care to go a few rounds?"

"Mr Popularity huh?" Mike carelessly threw his suit to a chair. He
unbuttoned his cuffs and picked up a cue stick. "Sure, I'd love to
trash your ass, Mr British Gentleman, but I have to teach my dear
friend here today the joys of pool."

Jason watched Mike greet his friends. It was becoming a rather
familiar feeling to have people's backs turning to him once they'd
found someone more interesting to talk to. Only this time the
humiliation and feeling of abandonment were ten times worse
because Mike said he wouldn't turn his back to him. He racked his
brain trying to think of something witty to say, to make these
guys notice him, but as usual, his cursed brain froze on him. To
his horror, tears threatened to well in his eyes. It hurt. He'd
think after years of being ignored in crowds he'd be used to it,
but damn it, this time it hurt. He took a step back, blindly
towards the exit.

An arm sneaked around his waist. "Hey, hey, love, where do you
think you're going?" Mike's grin was like the sun warming his
heart. "Come here and meet my friends."

Jason had to swallow a sob of relief. Absurd really, he was being
melodramatic. He tried to shake off his ridiculously overwrought
emotions, but Mike was there, blocking him from the view of his
friends. "You're supposed to be the smart one here, Jase," Mike
whispered. "You think I'm going to be like those other people?"
Oh, he knew Jason well. Jason nodded, feeling like a small child.
When Mike's finger wiped a sole tear from his cheeks, he knew he
was doomed.

"I'm OK. Let's meet your friends," he said, trying to regain his
equilibrium.



Stephen felt like a sleazy voyeur. "You feel like a sleazy
voyeur?" he asked Jeremy.

"I feel like a sleazy voyeur," Jeremy concurred. "Look at them.
Tsk tsk. Damn, I need a man of my own."

"Here, you need to balance yourself properly," Mike told Jason,
"come on, buddy, you're a physicist. You should understand when I
say geometry is everything, coupled with the right momentum. Bend
a little, hitch up here a little."

Jason couldn't breath. Mike's hands seemed to be everywhere on his
body, on his back, along his hips, on his arms. It was all he
could do to see from the red haze of arousal surrounding his
senses. And the bastard knew it too; Jason could hear the glee in
the other man's voice. And those cunning hands, damn them, they
knew what they were doing. When Mike stood behind him, supposedly
to help him aim the cue, Jason would feel the man's erection
pressing into his back. When those hands danced on his body, the
fingers tracing his knuckles lightly, running along his thighs
here, teasingly dancing along his buttocks there, it was all Jason
could not to throw Mike off in fear of his own sanity. When Mike
breathed down his neck, slowly, almost lingeringly loving, Jason
could smell the talc the man had on. It was all he could do not to
throw Mike onto the pool table and sexually assault that man. He
bit his lower lip from moaning. He couldn't help it; he thrust his
hips onto the side of the wooden table, the pressing of his
erection into the smooth surface hardly a relief of his urgent
arousal.

Without his arms on the table, he might have crumpled right onto
the floor when Mike abruptly removed his presence, for his legs
seemed to have lost all their strength.

Mike didn't look too pleased; in fact he looked positively
frustrated when one of his friends - Jeremy - came to stand beside
Jason while Stephen stood between Mike and Jason. Probably on
purpose.

"So, Mike told us you were a scientist once. Chaos, am I right?"
Jeremy said, sharpening his cue.

"Yeah." Without Mike hovering over him, Jason could think clearer
a little, although his awareness of Mike was always in the
periphery of his thoughts. He sent the white ball flying across
the table and winced when it hit the far edge and ricocheted off
into a hole. Ouch. "Actually I quitted sometime last year."

"He got a job as a cleaner," Mike interrupted. "You still want
that game?"

"Sure!" Jeremy smiled. "You're on,"



"What the hell are you doing trying to cozen up to Jase?" Mike
demanded.

"Excuse me? I'm just trying to be nice to your friend. Quite a shy
guy, isn't he? Doesn't say much." Jeremy looked at Mike's face. He
had known Mike for a few years now, and coupled with his
professional ability to read people well, he could see that Mike
was boiling. Mike wore a pleasant facade, as usual, but there was
tightening around the mouth, a darkening of those brilliant eyes,
and whitening of knuckles around the cue stick. "Mike, don't tell
me you seriously think I'm poaching on your territory."

"I've seen you sweet talk guys. And just now you're positively
oozing honey. I will not have it. He is mine." Mike's smile was
almost feral, and juxtaposed with his pleasant tone, the effect
was eerie. "And I will fucking hurt you if you even think
otherwise."

"Relax, buddy. He's not my type anyway. A little too shy and
quiet. I like a little more life in my men." Jeremy tapped the
pool table. "Besides, I think he is rather plain-looking."

"Oh yes, he is," Mike agreed. Let everyone think Jason was plain.
Then no one would try to take that man from him.

Good Lord, he was sounding positively barbaric. Next he would be
stealing chastity belts from museum to lock Jason in them. He
looked at where Jason and Steo were talking. He scowled; Steo was
leaning a little too close for Mike's liking, and if Steo touched
Jason. Good Lord. Since when was he turning all territorial and
irrational? He was losing his hard-earned control and becoming the
drunkard, fucked-up druggie he was half a decade back, and damned
if he wasn't terrified of going back into that hell.

No, get a grip on yourself, he told himself. He would not give in
to his inner demons. He would bloody well be Mr Nice Guy even if
it killed him.

He caught Jeremy looking at Jason and wondered whether the gleam
in Jeremy's eyes were anything sexual in nature. Mike couldn't
allow that. No one messed with Jason except him, at least until he
was done with Jason. Then, maybe Jeremy could have him. Maybe.

"Tell you what," he said, "let's start the game. I win, you'll
stay the hell away from Jason."

"And if I win?" Jeremy asked, totally enjoying himself. Mike was
showing some strained feelings tonight, and truth be told, it was
rather a relief to discover the man capable of darker emotions
apart from Barney-esque lovey-dovey pleasantness.

"You won't."

Now that was a challenge. Mike was the best pool player among
Jeremy's acquaintances, and Jeremy always enjoyed a challenge. "If
I win" - which he wouldn't, he was sure, so what the hell - "I'll
get to ask Jason to watch that new Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts
movie with me. He's free to decline, of course."

Mike's jaw ticked. No way, no fucking way now would he even allow
Jeremy to touch his cue. He'd fucking clear the table. "You're
on."



"Did you enjoy yourself tonight?" Mike asked as he inserted his
key into the Merc door key slot. He didn't turn the key, however,
he waited for the other man's answer.

Jason shoved both his hands into his suit pockets, as if the night
chill was getting to him badly. The act made him oddly vulnerable
to Mike. Damn, he was confused. His feelings for this man
oscillated from perverse amusement at making Jason uncomfortable
to uncontrollable, almost violent arousal upon each contact. And
this confusion made him feel weak and unsure of himself. How could
this shy, socially awkward man made him, an old pro at controlling
his emotions, feel so off base? And worse, Mike should hate this
feeling of insecurity. Instead he enjoyed the feeling. On one hand
he was afraid of being the weak, abusive man he once was, yet oh,
how glorious it was to actually feel something - anything - other
than enforced cheerfulness.

When Jason said, "Yes I did, Mike. Thank you" Mike suddenly wanted
to talk, to tell Jason the story of his whole sad life.

He removed the key and placed the key ring into his pocket. "Come
on, let's walk around for a while. I'm not in the mood to go
home."

"It's 3 am!" Jason said, a token protest really. Mike gave an
impatient humph and took his hand in his, and Jason followed.

"Beautiful night isn't it?" Mike said, not caring that the night
sky wasn't really starry or bright. "I wanna talk to you."

"I figured as much."

"How come you're so eloquent and tartly when you're with me? I
don't see you getting on your insolent act when you're smooching
up with Steo and Jeremy," Mike said in exasperated disgust. "You
know what? I think your geek thing is all an act."

"Maybe because you bring out the worst in me," Jason shot back.

"I think it's because you're comfortable with me. I think you like
me. A lot."

That was becoming too close to the truth for comfort. Jason
stumbled, trying to change the topic. "What do wanna talk about,
apart from me liking you a lot?"

"Well, I hope you don't mind listening to me talk about me. It's
not really my favorite topic, but I feel like talking about me."

Mike didn't stop walking, instead his paces increased. "Slow down
Mike," he said softly. "You've come to the right place. I've been
alone so long narcissism is my specialty."

"OK, this is going to sound downright corny, but if you just say
the word, you won't have to be alone." Mike halted. "I read that
from a book."

"You're nuts." Jason made to turn, then froze when he felt a
knifepoint at his back.

"Shit," Mike hissed.

"Give me your money, come on," came a gruff voice. Jason inched
his neck around a little to see a man pointing a knife at his
back. The mugger's arm came around his throat, choking him. "Give
me your money now!" the man yelled.

There was no one else around the deserted lane they were in. "OK,
buddy, I'm doing exactly as you say," Mike said, his voice calm,
as he removed his wallet.

"Throw it to the ground," the mugger ordered, "and take off that
watch too. And that mobile phone in your pocket as well."

"Whatever you say. Just let my friend go, OK?"

The mugger bent to pick up the objects Mike had thrown onto the
ground, dragging Jason along. Jason choked, coughing as that arm
tightened around his throat. "Now that's a Rolex," the mugger said
in satisfaction as he pocketed them. "Fuckin' yuppie fags."

Jason gave a choked cry as the mugger shoved him towards Mike. The
blade cut through his shoulder lightly, drawing a thin line of
blood to soak through his shirt.

Mike saw the blood pooling on Jason's shirt, and saw red. The
mugger had just signed his death warrant. With a roar of anger he
pounced, leaping onto the startled man and ramming him to the
ground. "You sonovabitch!" he snarled, grabbing the man by his
hair and slamming his face onto the hard road. Nobody hurt what
was his. No-fucking-body. He smashed the man's face onto the
ground again, and again, and would have done it again if Jason's
fearful shouts finally penetrated his mind. He then realized the
man underneath him wasn't really moving. He saw the blood of blood
and winced. Thankfully the mugger still had a pulse.

"Call 911," he said, not looking at Jason. He felt so damned
weary, and looking at Jason's panicked and terrified expression
would only drive him insane.



Jason burrowed into his sheets, couldn't sleep. Thankfully the
next day was Sunday and he needn't spend a sleepless day trying to
clean up toilets. If the physical nature of the job wasn't
enjoyable, and the pressures wasn't negligible, he'd probably
still be dipping into his bank account and living a life of
idleness. So what if it was a rather boring job? His social life
was just as boring. He was a sorry state when it came to the fun
department. A nice charming man breezed into his life and he
turned out to be borderline psycho. Jason kept seeing in his mind
Mike's face as he smashed the mugger into the ground - feral,
almost devoid of humanity. Jason would've accepted it if Mike
exhibited any remorse or panic, but no, Mike was as calm as the
sea when NY's finest came and brought them both to the police HQ.
That man answered questions rationally, calmly, the way he
transformed from enraged beast to civilized model citizen with
such ruthless efficiency was terrifying. Jason had almost
forgotten about Mike's darker nature, lulled by the pleasant night
out, until he saw it again. Now he was afraid. He wanted Mike, the
good pleasant Mike, without the darkness attached. Now that he'd
found a person who made him laugh, he was reluctant to let him go,
even knowing the dangerous man Mike could be. His mind screamed at
him to forget Mike, his heart wanted him to take Mike regardless
of consequences. Good God, he was turning masochistic.

If it was one thing he'd learnt in his twenty-eight years was that
solitude was comforting. He had learnt to be so comfortable being
alone. Watching movies alone, going on the mIRC at night
accompanied only by his favorite radio station. Perhaps in a few
months he'd get used to being alone again after this episode.
Right now he felt sick.

The phone rang. "Can you come talk to me?" Mike said over the
phone. "I'm outside, on the main porch."

"Mike? What happened? The police.?" Jase, despite his best
judgement, felt his spirit soar. He hadn't seen Mike for a day and
damn if he didn't actually miss the man's presence.

"They let me out. Ruled it as self-defense. I managed to get my
lawyer pal to get me out as soon as possible. I want to talk to
you, please. Can you come down? Please?"

Mike's voice was different. Gone was the persuasive charm, for
this time Mike sounded broken, pleading even. "Mike, I need time
to think. I'm confused."

"Oh don't start playing the role of the offended, cowardly I-need-
space-I-must-think Miss with me. Listen, I got the automatic with
me now. You don't come down in five minutes, I'll splatter my
brain all over the floor."

"Don't joke with me now!" Jason yelled.

"Am I joking? Come on, you think I can kill. Why won't I shoot
myself?"

Mike was fucking nuts, Jason thought as he raced down the stairs
three minutes later. Fuckfuckfuck! He'd kill Mike himself.

He found Mike sitting on the floor, back against the doorway. "Oh
Mike," he whispered, feeling his own heart shattering. It was a
shock to see Mike's face. Gone was the vibrancy, the joie de
vivre, leaving behind a weary and bitter man. Mike tried to give a
weak smile, and failed.

"You see Jase, I can't fake it when I'm with you. I can't pretend
to be happy. Not when I'm with you. I'm so fucking miserable," he
said, thumping the back of his head against the wall. "You make me
want to be honest with you. And my brand of honesty scares you
away. So tell me, what shall we do now?"

"Where's your gun?" Jason sat on the second staircase. "You're not
really going to shoot yourself, are you?"

"Nah, no offense, but you're not really worth dying for. I'd
rather live for you. There, I've said it." Mike gave a laugh of
self-derision. "I'm in love with you. I think I always have been
since I first saw you. Shut up and listen, Jase. I love you
because you're so. you. You make me laugh when no one else can. I
make everyone laugh, no big deal, but you, only you make me laugh
and that's reason enough for me not to let you go. I can't forget
you, I don't want to live without you, and I want to be with you
until the day I breathe my last." Mike closed his eyes wearily. "I
hate this, you know. I don't like the way you challenge my sense
of control. If I'm not careful I'll become the man I once was."

Jason kept silent. He sensed Mike wanted to talk, and for once,
Jason was willing to listen.

"Yes, Jase, you're right to be afraid. I once beat a man who was
my lover. Bad. I broke six of his ribs and shattered both his
wrists, because he happened to say something I found offensive. He
was unconscious when the NYPD blue-coats broke down the door."
Mike gave a broken sob, but waved away Jason when he made to move
towards him. "Just listen, OK? You have the right to know me. I am
a monster. Sometimes I feel so mad and I'll do things, things I'll
regret and things that can destroy others. When I beat up that
motherfucker who knifed you, I actually liked it. I wanted to kill
him for hurting you. There. I've said it. I'm a potential spouse
beater if you accept me."

"Oh Mike." Jason buried his face in his hands. "Please don't do
this to yourself."

"Do what? Tell you the truth? That's the truth, Jase my love. I
know you won't believe me when I say I'd shoot myself before I
hurt you. You don't trust me. I read in self-help book trust is
very important in a relationship, and I guess that's what we lack.
That's okay. We barely know each other." Mike rose unsteadily to
his feet, shaking off Jason's attempt to help him steady himself.
"So I'll give you a chance to say no to me. Next Saturday I'll
attend Ethan's party - oh, he's celebrating his first anniversary
with his shrink doctor - and I'll be there until midnight. If you
want me, you'll be there. You don't show up, that's okay too. Now
I'm off to get some sleep. It's your game now Jase."

"Mike wait, damn it!" Jason called, but Mike didn't look back.

And Jason couldn't make himself run after the man.



FOUR

"What do you mean you're not coming to my anniversary party?"
Ethan Hawke said. "You have a death wish, pal?"

"I just can't make it, okay? I'm working late tonight." Jason was
never good at lying, and he was certain Ethan could catch the
nervous catch in his voice.

"Rubbish. You know you should come. Some big shot stage people are
around, and it is to your advantage to know them well if you want
some decent stage work in the future. So I'll get someone to pick
you up around eight. Remember, I'm holding a masked ball. Get a
decent costume okay?"

Great, another masked ball. Jason couldn't take it, especially
when all he wanted to do was to go run up to Mike and take what
the man was offering. He wanted to move far away, get a
restraining order, and change his locks. Damn, he was all confused
and unsure of what to do. He couldn't reconcile the Mike he
thought he knew with the Mike who was capable of violence. He
looked at his wrist, remembering the tight hold of Mike around his
wrist, hard but never bruising. The way Jason teased him glibly,
yet Mike never responded rudely, much less aggressively. Mike who
treated everyone with patience and magnanimity. Mike who spoke
French words softly, tenderly as he touched Jason in ways of
heaven. And Mike, who was arrested years ago for battering his
lover almost to death. Jason had browsed through the library
newspaper archive, and saw the newspaper article, complete with a
photo of Mike in handcuffs, face inscrutable. The man was
sentenced eight years behind bars, and was sent to detox and rehab
from drugs and alcohols. And was released in two years on parole
for good behavior and remarkable progress in rehab. Could Mike had
done just that, changed his personality and behavior? Can anyone
be capable of such overhaul of his life?

Jason saw in his mind how Mike never touched anything stronger
than caffeine. When a man offered Mike a cigarette, Mike turned it
down easily. Oh, Jason wanted to believe that Mike was a changed
man. He wanted to believe everything Mike told him, badly.

"Hey, is it because of my guest list?" Ethan asked. "You quarreled
with Mike or something?"

"Well, I don't want to talk about it," Jason answered.

"Aha, so it is Mike. What happened? Lovers quarrel? No, don't tell
me now. I'll come over and play busybody and you'll tell me face
to face."

"You know where I am?"

"Of course, you're always at home at Sunday night, probably
reading a book."

"Maybe I'm using a public phone."

Ethan snorted. "You're kidding. You're the most predictable fellow
I've ever seen."

Jason hanged up, mulling over what Ethan just said. It was true,
he realized, he was predictable. How had that happened? When had
he become so comfortable with being alone yet whining all the time
that he was lonely? What had Mike said the other day again? Oh
yes, "Damn it, but you say the most 'No' and 'I can't' than anyone
else I've ever seen. Lucky for you I'm a patient man." Jason
hadn't taken any note of it, but now, oh, that stung. How true,
for despite wallowing in self-pity over how he couldn't make
friends yadda yadda yadda, he couldn't even make the necessary
step to step out of the pit of self-pity he dug himself into. He
had taken acting lessons out of boredom, but he'd loved it because
on stage, he could be a different man and bask in the attention.
He wanted attention, he wanted friendship, yes, but he also turned
down invitations from his fellow students, convinced he had
nothing to offer them. He couldn't even admit to himself he loved
stage work, that his fellow students were fun to be with.

His life, Jason realized, had been nothing but a big pity party.
It was a depressing thought.

But he could change, he realized. He could finally be nice to the
people around him, and hoped it wasn't too late and they hadn't
considered him a total anti-social yet. Yes, that was what he
should do. He'd buy himself a couple of self-help books while he
was at it.

Feeling rather excited by the prospect of actually working towards
changing his life, he'd almost forgotten about Ethan when the man
knocked on the door.



Jason looked at his reflection in the mirror that following
Saturday morning and took a deep breath. "You're on a brink of new
life, Jason," he told himself. "It's now or never."

Indeed, it was now or never. And now here he was, Jason Teresi,
shy, socially awkward, geek and nerd to the core, about to take
the biggest risk in his life.

"You're right," he told his reflection, feeling a little stupid
about doing so. "You've been hiding far too long. Stop feeling
afraid everybody is out to make you hurt. Here is a funny, nice
man who says he is in love with you. OK, so trust is a little
lacking in that area. You're afraid he'll turn abusive. A genuine
fear, I believe." Hey, that felt rather good. The book he bought
that advised this wasn't that great a waste of money after all.
Encouraged by the lightness he felt, he jabbed a finger at the
chest of the reflection. "But you should look at the evidences
too. You're a scientist, or rather, an ex-scientist. One, everyone
who knew Mike since his reform had nothing but good things to say
about him. OK, so that's hearsay. Not very solid evidence. Two,
Mike hadn't actually beaten anyone when he was sober. And he is
sober nowadays." Jason sighed, this wasn't working - not as well
as he hoped. He was still afraid.

Ethan had asked him if he was willing to risk his heart and life
on Mike. Jason sat on the floor and looked at the mirror. Did he
trust Mike? The realization hit him like a sledgehammer - he did
trust Mike. When Mike said he'd die before he hurt Jason, Jason
believed him. How could he not? Mike hadn't treated him anything
but tenderness. Mike cared for his feelings and thoughts. And Mike
was sober. If Mike could control his temper for five years, who
was to say he couldn't do it for another five? Mike offered him a
chance at happiness, and like the self-pitying idiot he was, he
almost let it pass.

Jason smiled to himself. He'd take the chance. Besides, if Mike
turned into Darth Vader before his eyes, there was always the
automatic.



At two Jason opened the door and blinked in surprise.

Stephen, Ethan, and a man Ethan introduced as Brendan stood at the
doorway, grinning like idiots. "We're your fairy godmothers, Jase.
Come on, Stephen will see to your hair, Brendan your clothes, and
me, I'll supervise."



FIVE

11.55 pm. Mike looked at the clock and felt his heart shatter into
a million pieces. Jason wasn't coming. Fighting despair, he turned
to his host. "You're a shrink, Matt. Tell me, can a man truly
change his behavior?"

Matthew Broderick was a man used to people telling him their
problems. As such, he easily switched from being a host to a
shrink. "Well, as a matter of fact I do. It takes character,
discipline, and a true desire to change his life on the man's
part. Why do you ask?"

"A man I want to spend my life with won't believe me when I tell
him I'm not the violent man I was once." Mike swallowed the punch,
the usually tangy taste bitter in his mouth. "He got me doubting
myself as well. He can make me so irritated, so happy, so ˜
everything. He makes me feel alive. And it scares me. Because I
remember how easy it was to just lose control and lash out."

"Well, if you're aware of that, I say you're on the right track,"
Matt said, suddenly pitying the man before him. "Look, Mike,
here's an advice. Be honest to yourself. Stop pretending so hard
to be agreeable with everyone. It's okay to be angry or irritated.
That's human. Just don't go overboard."

Mike nodded. That sounded rational. "Say, what makes you think I'm
faking my happy nature?" he couldn't help asking.

Matt patted Mike's back consolingly. "I'm a shrink. I know these
things."

Yes, Mike decided. He could do honest. He looked at the clock,
11.58 pm. Very well, so Jason wasn't coming. That didn't mean he
should give up. If Jason wanted reassurance, he'd get it. Mike
would be the Prince Charming of the millennium and court Jason.
He'd make sure that man know Mike for the harmless bunny he was,
and they'd damned well live happily ever after. 11.59 pm. Mike
admitted to himself ruefully it would be nice though if Jason
showed up.

"Make way! Make way! Sorry, Paunch, but you'll have to move," he
heard someone say, and thought absently that it was about time
Brendan showed up for a party that was almost over. He heard
someone call his name, and he turned. And couldn't dare to believe
it. Jason was walking towards him, resplendent in violet brocade
suit that matched his eyes, and that man was actually looking
determined, loving, and uncertain all at once. And for once in his
life Mike was tongue-tied.

But not for long.

"I recognize that cut as Brendan's favorite," he said, holding his
arms open. And smiled when Jason walked into them.
