THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Dawson

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

"Oh God, let me get through this alive," the young man said
nervously under his breath. Gripping the baseball bat in shaky
fingers, he tried to get his breathing under control. One more
mistake and he would be out of the game.

He shouldn't be here. He was the permanent figure on the bench,
holder of one of the worst batting records in the history of the
team. If Danny Betts didn't break his thumb during practice,
Dawson James Smith would still be watching the game from the
bench.

Cold sweat running down his face, he tried to keep breathing and
focus. He couldn't hear anything, not the crowd, but he saw the
player throw the ball. The ball cracked through the air, hurtling
toward Dawson in breakneck speed.

He swung the bat with all his might, closing his eyes tight as he
staggered in the momentum of the swing. He heard the loud "Out!"
and sighed in resignation. Screw-up Smith had struck again.



The man standing at the audience bit his knuckles as he watched
the baseball player walked, defeated, from the field. He was a
tall, slim yet well built man whose square face and aristocratic
nose bestowed upon him the regal presence of calm confidence and
indomitable will. A discerning eye would be attracted to the way
his light blue shirt stretched taut across his broad shoulders,
the way his biceps filled his shirtsleeves, and the muscular
thighs.

Jeremy Northam, who was sitting in the audience watching as poor
Dawson walked off the field, was definitely attracted, but he was
attracted to Jason Patric the way one would look at a Raphaelite
painting - Jason was pleasing to the eye (if one went for beefy
sorts). Jeremy had spoken to the man well enough to know that
Jason's low baritone could send low shivers of delight up one's
spine. Everything about Jason was quiet strength and an air of
dependability. Jason was solid, real, and dependable.

Like a pet dog.

No, Jeremy wasn't attracted - sexually - to Jason. The other man
was too dull for his tastes, even if Jeremy wasn't currently
seeing someone he shouldn't be seeing, and even more, Jason was
Dawson's brother. Not by blood, of course, but Jason was the son
of Dawson's father's best friend. When Lourdes and Liam Patric
were killed in a car accident, Dawson's family took the then ten-
year old boy in.

And it was plain to see that young Dawson was hopelessly in love
with Jason. Stealing Jason away from Dawson would be akin to
beating a puppy with a baseball bat. Jeremy wasn't into
masochistic games. He liked Dawson a lot despite the latter's
whiny, hapless personality.

Jeremy knew enough from Walter Smith's reminiscences that he and
his wife had never expected a child of their own. When Dawson was
born the year after, Jason took the brotherly care thing a bit too
far and became even more protective of the frail, sickly boy than
Walter himself or his wife.

"I know I can count on Jason to take care of Dawson," Walter had
said before he finally succumbed to lung cancer two years ago.
"Dawson is always a sick boy, and he has this case of low self-
esteem so many therapy sessions couldn't get rid off. But hell, I
can die in peace."

"I don't know, Walt," Jeremy had said to his mentor, the man who
believed in him enough to provide him the loan that helped him set
up his security firm. "I do wonder if Jason is really happy. From
what I have seen of him, he has suppressed everything out of his
life except caring for Dawson. You told me that Jason forgone his
prom night to take Dawson to the movies. Such behavior is extreme
even for brothers. It can be pretty unhealthy."

Walt just coughed and shrugged. "My wife and I used to talk about
this when she was alive. But one thing I can say, since he was a
child, Jason never listened to anyone but himself. If he is doing
this out of some misguided debt he believes he owes us, he won't
listen if I tell him there's no debt between us. And somehow he
would have convinced himself that he is caring for Dawson because
he loves doing it."

Now, as Jeremy watched Jason standing there, stiff and silent, the
man's unmoving posture radiating barely controlled temper, he felt
an eerie chill seizing him. At that moment, as Jason looked down
at the sight of the coach yelling at Dawson, the man looked as if
he could kill the coach for hurting his precious Dawson.

A man would walk to the ends of the earth for a man like Jason.
Jeremy wondered of Dawson knew how lucky he was to have the
devotion and loyalty of such a man.

Shaking off his momentary whimsy, he focused his attention to the
very handsome, very bland man talking to Jason. This had to be one
of the many men who had flitted through Jason's life, doomed to
impermanence because there was no room for any of them in Jason's
closeted heart.

"I don't see why we have to spend the afternoon sweating in this
stadium looking at some loser team getting trashed," the man said
loudly.

Jeremy could have told the man his faux pas. Jason turned to the
man, the expression on his face was as if he was seeing the man
for the first time and he really disliked what he saw. A trickle
of blood flowed down from the bite mark on his knuckles, ignored,
as Jason told the man in a voice of pure ice, "Go home, Marcus."

"I'll meet you at home."

"Go home to Paris," Jason clarified.

With that, the man just turned his back and walked away from the
shocked Marcus. Jeremy shook his head and walked up to the poor,
just jilted man. "Sorry old boy, but obviously you haven't known
him long enough if you think you can mock Jason's beloved Dawson's
first ball game in three years and get away with it. You do know
Dawson, don't you?" Jeremy asked blithely. "Medium height guy, too
thin, with dark brown floppy hair and sad puppy eyes?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Marcus demanded.

"Just a family friend." Jeremy tipped his cap at Marcus. "Here's
an unsolicited advice: next time, no matter how gorgeous or how
good he is in bed, never choose the one that comes with a
baggage."



Dawson's bitterness evaporated like snow in summer when he saw the
man waiting for him. The man grinned only for him and opened his
arms wide. Dawson released a laugh of exuberance.

"Jason!" he cried, almost tearfully, as he ran across the car
park. "Jason, Jason, Jason," he kept calling, as if he was afraid
this moment was just a product of his imagination.

He jumped into Jason's arms, colliding with a solid wall of
masculinity, hard muscles, and supple, soft skin. Jason's arms
wrapped around his back tightly as Dawson pressed his face into
the man's shoulders, inhaling Jason's cologne even as he tried to
hold back tears. "I miss you so much, Jason," he couldn't help
sobbing.

Jason pushed him back slightly to look at him. "Hey, I was only
away for four weeks," he said, his grin wide. If Dawson looked
into his eyes closely, the man would see the relief reflected in
his eyes. "Anyway, I'm home now."

Dawson tried to control his overwrought emotions as relief, joy,
and other unidentifiable feelings surged through him. Jason was
here again and everything would be okay now. "I'm sorry you have
to see my strike-out," he said softly.

Jason playfully ruffled his brother's shaggy hair. "Hey, forget
baseball. What say we get something to eat? I have some great
things for you in the car, but you'll have to listen to me talk
about my trip first."

"Did you get the contract?" Dawson asked, more concerned about
Jason, as always.

"Is there any doubt I won't get it?" Jason answered with a quirky
lift of his brows. "Come on, let's go celebrate."

Dawson grinned. He couldn't help the feeling of warm pride
overwhelming him as he looked at Jason's visage. His adopted
brother, tall and invincible, could do anything. Dawson had never
seen the man fail in anything in his life, and was proud all the
more of Jason for that.

Jason was his anchor, his sanity, and his protector, comforter,
and best friend. They had nothing in common, the perfect
overachiever and the gawky kid everyone called Screw-up Smith, but
their life together was the only moment of joy in Dawson's life.
Therefore he really shouldn't blame himself for being utterly in
love, definitely most in love in the most improper manner, with
Jason since he was thirteen.

Fighting off the twinge of melancholy that nothing would come out
of his secret love for the man, he tried to drown in Jason's arms.
"Where's the boyfriend you say you're going to show me?" he asked.

"Who?"



That night Jason was walking back from the bathroom when he heard
the soft sobs from Dawson's room. He paused and placed his hand on
the doorknob when he hesitated. Poor Deuce (his nickname for
Dawson) - he always tried so hard. Pushing open the door, he
called softly, "Deuce?"

He pretended not to see Dawson's quick wiping of his eyes. "Deuce,
it's okay. Forget about the baseball game. You just need some
practice," he said.

On Dawson's part, he felt his tears welled up even more at the
sound of Jason's voice. "I'm not crying," he said shakily, pulling
his sheets up to his neck. "Go away, Jase."

Jason was a tall, solid presence, and Dawson knew, somewhere in
him, that Jason, the always-reliable man, would comfort him when
he needed the man. In a way, it seemed proper and expected that
Jason would know that he was hurting. "I'm just being silly," he
told Jason. "Silly pathetic me is just being childish as usual."

He started when Jason's voice sounded close to his ears. "Move
over," Jason said, and Dawson realized Jason had shut the door
behind him and walked to stand beside Dawson's bed. "Come on,"
Jason urged softly.

Only when Jason's heavy weight eased beside him did Dawson realize
that his brother was very naked except for a very thin pair of
running shorts. He felt his own cock jumped to life when Jason's
muscular arm wrapped around his waist and the man's hard-muscled
chest pressed against the length of Dawson's back. Jason's hairy,
hard thigh slowly eased between Dawson's legs until it rested
under the heated juncture of Dawson's thighs, and Jason's cock
bulge pressed against Dawson's buttock. They used to sleep
together like this, back when Dawson was younger, only now Dawson
was a man who knew desire.

It was Dawson's private hell that with him, Jason was always
unrestrained in touching him. The man was always reserved when he
was with anyone else, but with Dawson, he had no inhibitions in
touching the man casually, sometimes habitually, on the shoulders,
waist, arms, and hands. Every touch burned Dawson in frustrated
desire, thrilling him even as his brain screamed against the agony
of knowing Dawson was only torturing himself with each of Jason's
familiarity with him.

Like now.

"I am never going to be good in sports," Dawson said, closing his
eyes in pleasure. Jason's touch was all he ever needed. "I always
wanted to be like you, you know," he said bitterly.

"I wouldn't want that, Deuce. You're just perfect to me the way
you are," Jason said softly in that tender, comforting voice he
did so well.

"People talk, you know," Dawson said just as quietly. He could
feel Jason's heartbeat against his body, a steady tattoo of
strength and virility. "They said you and I are - " He couldn't
say it. Even when he secretly delighted in hearing the whispers
and reveled in the mistaken assumption, he couldn't bear it if
Jason's happiness was ruined in the process.

"What are they saying, that we are actually fucking each other?
I've heard that before," Jason said bluntly. He took a deep
breath, seemingly unaware that the man in his embrace acutely felt
every rise and fall of his chest. "I don't care what they say.
Fuck 'em."

"You never did care what people say, and they love you for that."

"Wrong. I care about what you say about me," Jason said, and his
sincerity made the triteness of the statement pale in its
heartfelt earnestness. "After all, you're my only best buddy and
favorite brother. I won't change you any other way, Deuce."

"Thanks Jase. I feel much better already." It was the truth. Only
Dawson didn't dare turn to look at Jason, or he would end up
revealing his feelings for this man.

"Good. I hate to see you miserable. You know, if you like, you can
come sleep with me anytime you like, just like the old days,"
Jason said, pressing his chin against Dawson's shoulder. "You know
I never lock my bedroom door."

"Except when some man's visiting," Dawson teased.

"Hey, say the word and I will send them all away," Jason answered.
"It's embarrassing, but I do miss the old days when you will climb
into my bed after a nightmare."

"I don't have nightmares anymore," Dawson whispered.

"But I do," Jason answered, then chuckled. "Go to sleep, Deuce.
I'll hold you until morning."



TWO

"I love him," Dawson said miserably.

"You love him, and it's probably one-sided. Big fucking deal.
You're luckier than most people are. Your crush dotes on you,"
Ryan Phillippe, angelic and golden, said.

"That's what killing you, I suppose," Joshua Hartnett said. "It
will be so much easier if he lets you know that he hates you."

"I don't see the problem, really. If he loves you that much, it'll
be pretty easy to push him into seeing you as someone more than a
brother," Michael Owens - Mikey to everyone - added, frowning at
his cards. Unlike the other three, he was still unable to master
the intricacies of poker.

"He loves me, but not the way I want him to." Dawson rubbed his
face wearily, a gesture his friends realized mirrored the way the
object of his affection did in stressful situations. "I know I'm
greedy, but I want all of him. But I am also terrified that I
would lose what I have of him if I screw up. Like everything else
I did in my life."

Among the five men, Dawson was the only one unattached. He envied
his friends, really. All five of them met through their older
boyfriends, except for Dawson who knew them via Jason. Being the
youngest and hence the most restless of the lot, they fast formed
their own clique.

"Maybe you ought to find someone," Joshua suggested. "Someone who
would take Jason off your mind."

"I'm looking, I'm looking," Dawson said in resignation. "Too bad
that's all I'm doing."

"Listen, Daws. I know a friend who's single and has a decent,
nice, sensitive personality. Care to meet him?" Wesley Bentley,
the fifth member of the clique, interjected, pushing aside his
cards carelessly.

"Sure." Then, remembering that Wes' friends tended to run into the
wild, unpredictable sorts, he asked warily, "Do I know him?"

"I don't think you do. I knew him through Tobey myself. He's
thirty, name's Robert Downey, with a Jr at the end, and he's
pretty boring." Wes grinned. "Just your type."



Jason Patric celebrated his thirty-second birthday last week in a
haze of too much alcohol and sex he didn't even enjoy in a
Parisian hotel room with the boyfriend (ex-boyfriend, he amended)
whose name he couldn't even remember. He didn't even know why he
bothered with the now-forgotten ex, except that he was so homesick
and missing his Dawson in those four weeks he languished in Paris,
working a deal to allow his company to form a partnership with the
largest telecommunications firm there.

He had no doubts about his chances at success. After all, he knew
himself to be a hardworking, capable man whom people could talk to
and trust easily. He was blessed with an easy smile, genuine
reliability, and he wouldn't mind if people clung to him for his
strength or comfort. In fact, people relying on him was the only
sort of life he knew, ever since he saw a blue-eyed baby in a
nursery of a hospital and was told tearfully by the man he loved
as a father, "That's Dawson, your brother."

"Deuce," he called. "I'm home." He placed the champagne in a
bucket of ice and hummed to himself as he cleaned two glasses.
"Deuce," he called again, frowning when he realized Dawson wasn't
running down from his room upstairs. For the first time he
wondered if Dawson had found a job he hadn't informed Jason. Jason
shrugged. He knew, as a fact, that Dawson would never hide
anything from him.

Damn, where was Dawson? "Deuce?" he yelled, becoming more agitated
by the minute as the silence stretched and still no Dawson. He was
about to wipe his hands and pound up the stairs in panic - please
let it not be another asthma attack - when he saw the note pasted
at the back of the door.

"Jase, I'll be back late tonight. I'm going out with a friend,"
Dawson had written in his shaky handwriting.

He had never realized how much he had counted on Dawson being at
home, eager and impatient for his attention, until now. Jason felt
a momentary rage wash over him. So strong was its intensity that
it caught him off-guard. When he got his feelings under control,
he looked at his hand and realized almost stupidly that he had
crushed the glass he was holding to pieces.



"I have a great time," Dawson said at eight o' clock that night as
he stood outside his house. "Thanks, Bob."

"No problem."

Robert Downey, Jr was lean, dark-haired, and had an easy wit. He
was the perfect anti-Jason. Dawson knew the moment he set eyes on
the man, however, that Robert wouldn't be anything more than a
nice guy to him. And doubtless Robert felt the same way too, for
their date was more of a friendly chat between two guys about
baseball than anything even covertly sexual in nature.

"Hey, if you want some baseball pointers, I can teach you," Bob
said. "I'm in the area for this week. If you like, we can practice
your swing."

Dawson grinned. "You're gonna put your hands on my hips and
waist?"

The other man only returned the grin. "I doubt any of us would get
any hot flushes out of that."

True. "Sure," Dawson said. Besides, he liked Bob and who knew,
maybe they could work something out.

Impulsively, catching Dawson by surprise, Bob leaned forward and
kissed him. It was one last test, of course, between them both. A
treacherous chill only fell over Dawson, however, as all his
senses protested - Bob wasn't Jason. When Bob pulled back, Dawson
saw only mild disappointment in the man's eyes.

Obviously they weren't meant to be anything more than just
friends.

The door swung open, and Dawson, losing the support of the door
against his back, staggered. Jason wasn't looking at him, however,
although his hands reached out to steady Dawson in a firm grip on
his shoulders. "Who the hell are you?" Jason practically growled.

Dawson looked at Jason in surprise. The man was always friendly,
or at least cordial, with everybody.

"You must be the overprotective big brother," Bob said, taking a
step back. Wise man. "Dawson told me a lot about you."

Jason just eyed the man with narrowed eyes, until Bob just
shrugged and turned to Dawson, "Pick you up for a game at four?"

"Sure," Dawson said, and he could have sworn that Jason's stiff
posture behind him grew even more rigid. He watched Bob leave,
aware more than aware of the fiery heat emanating from the man
behind him, standing so close that Dawson knew if he leaned back,
he would feel Jason's solid strength against his back.

And being Dawson, he leaned back, and closed his eyes against the
pleasure of touching Jason and the pain that he would probably be
always alone in his painful love and lust for his brother.

And Jason, being Jason, he sighed and placed his right hand around
Dawson's waist. "Come on in," he said.

"You were really rude to Bob. What the hell is wrong with you?" he
said, trying to shake off the hypnotic trance of desire flaring in
his loins at the burn of Jason's touch on his waist.

"Bob," Jason sneered. "So he is very close to you?"

"He's just a date," Dawson answered, letting Jason pull him into
the house. If only he could believe that Jason was jealous of Bob.
Jason wouldn't be, but it was a nice fantasy nonetheless.

"Don't see him anymore, I don't like his face."

"Jesus, Jason, what the hell is wrong with you?" Dawson exclaimed.

"Nothing. Next time you go out on a date, you tell me. I'm worried
sick the whole evening, Deuce!" Jason said forcefully. "Surely you
can do more than to leave a note for me?" He hissed in his breath
in frustration. "Forget it. I just had a bad day, okay?"

"Where are you going?" Dawson asked as he watched the man reached
for the car keys on the table.

"We've run out of milk," Jason said simply. "I'll be back soon."



"It just hit me that Deuce might have a social life," Jason said,
sounding absolutely miserable. "Or fucking hell, a sex life."

Jeremy tried not to roll up his eyes in disgust. "He's twenty-two
years old, Jase. You don't expect him to stay at home and remain a
kid forever, do you? More beer?"

Jason nodded absently, and studied the glass Jeremy was filling,
looking most confused. "He's still young. He shouldn't be having
sex."

"Listen to you, Jase, you sound positively geriatric. How old were
you when you got laid for the first time?"

Jason growled. "Okay, I see your point. Is this how every parent
feel when their kids start growing up? Shit, I want to beat up
Bob, break every bone in his body, and make sure he never comes
near Deuce again. And I don't even know him. I'm fucking losing
it."

Jeremy had some ideas as to what was going on, but he kept it to
himself. "Go home, Jase, and please, get a life outside Dawson. Go
find a nice man, woman, whatever, get laid, and fall in love or
something." He hesitated. "Dawson won't always be there in your
life, he will find someone and move out. For both your sakes, get
a life."

Jason had gone pale and tense at Jeremy's words.

"Everyone leaves, Jase. It's just a matter of time," Jeremy said
quietly.



Dawson watched the rejection letters burn in the ashtray
emotionlessly. The letters he received so regularly had become a
clich‚ in his life, and he now burned them more of habit than of
some childish fuck-you gesture at the people who didn't find him
worthy of even granting a job interview. But he'd had it being a
loser. The neatly-filled enrolment form for night classes at his
side would be his ticket to getting a college degree in English,
and maybe in a few years he could be his own man and be more of
Jason's equal. Maybe then too Jason would see him as someone
worthy of his affections.

He had no idea where these spirited initiatives came from, and he
was pretty sure he would screw things up somehow, but in the
meantime, he felt great. He had a vision and a long-term plan
after all.

But as long as he remained here, as Screw-up Smith, dependant on
Jason for everything, Jason would never see him as anything more
than a helpless child.

"I'm home," he heard Jason say, and looked at the clock. It was
eleven. Trust Jason to go off to sulk only to come home dutifully
before midnight. Calm, rational, practical Jason who never did
anything stupid in his life - Dawson grinned to himself.

"I'm in the kitchen," he called out, knowing that Jason would keep
calling for him until he answered.

"What are you doing?" Jason asked curiously as he walked in and
his hand playfully massaged Dawson's shoulders. "You're signing up
for night classes?"

"Yeah. I just got a job at Mary Jo's place. It's just flipping
burgers and hot dogs, but at least it's a job. And at night I can
go to night class and get a college degree."

"You'll be pretty much out of the house all the time then," Jason
said flatly.

"I guess it'll be good," Dawson said, forcing his ambivalent
feelings to subside. "You can have more time for yourself, and I
can meet some new friends."

"It's Bob, isn't it? He is filling your head with these nonsense,"
Jason said sharply, walking up to stand across the table from
Dawson, his face hard in fury. "He's taking you away from me."

"What are you talking about? I have these plans for quite awhile
now. I'm twenty-two, Jase, I don't want to be a screw-up anymore.
It's time I try to help myself." His burst of bravado faltered as
a lifetime of indecisiveness and low self- esteem reared its ugly
head. "Jase, what? You think I'm aiming too high?"

"Is my opinion that important to you, Deuce?" the other man asked
softly.

"Of course," Dawson answered, trying to keep his voice light.
"Always."

"Then do it." Jason sighed and looked down at his hands on the
table. "It's just hard for me to accept that you're growing up.
Hell, I know you should do these things, and I think it's great
that you are doing them, but -" he hesitated - "I won't be seeing
much of you then, will I?"

"I guess not." Dawson hardened his resolve - it was best for him
to break away from Jason even if it killed him. Surely Jason
wouldn't be so cruel as to ask Dawson to be close to him even
while Dawson was dying inside from an impossible love? "Like I
said, I realized that I have been a crimp on your life. Maybe now
you can, I don't know, get a real boyfriend and settle down." The
image of Jason happy with someone, touching him, kissing him,
fucking him, was an excruciating agony.

Face facts, he told himself forcefully. Life was a fucker that
way.

"Have you been talking to Jeremy?" Jason asked.

"No. Why?"

"Nothing. Look, I am happy with my life with you," Jason said
slowly. "I don't want a boyfriend. My life's fine as it is."

"Mine isn't," Dawson told him. "Jason, look at me. I'm pathetic.
All I do is fail and cling to you afterwards for comfort. I can't
live this way, Jason. I'm tired of feeling like a failure, I'm
sick of being mocked and called the Screw-up - gee, where did his
successful and smart parents went wrong? - and I can't live here,
not when you are... oh forget it." Dawson looked away before his
eyes revealed too much of his feelings for Jason. Even now, the
thought of losing Jason hurt.

"I'm losing you," Jason said, giving voice to Dawson's pain.

"You'll never lose me," Dawson said, trying not to break down and
beg Jason not to look so stunned and pained.

Jason was deaf to him, however. He just walked out of the kitchen,
slamming his fist hard into the wall on his way out.



THREE

Dawson saw the man watching him, and his concentration faltered.
His swing went haywire.

"Oh man, that bulldog of yours is tenacious," Bob exclaimed,
taking off his cap. "What the hell is he doing here? He thinks I
will sexually assault you or something?"

Dawson would have chuckled if he weren't so aware of Jason's dark,
brooding stare on him. "He's just overprotective."

"He's not really your brother, is he?" Bob asked curiously as he
prepared to throw the ball another time.

"He might as well be. He's adopted by my parents who thought they
wouldn't have any kids. I don't know why he hates you so much."
Dawson looked sideways at the tall figure watching them. "I guess
he finds it hard to forget that I'm not exactly his blood
brother."

Bob threw a nice one even as he said, "You know what I think? The
problem may be due to the fact that he's starting to realize just
that - you and he aren't blood brothers."

"What?" Dawson exclaimed, his surprise such that he reacted purely
by instinct. There was a loud crack and his swing caught the ball
hard. Bob and he watched in surprise as the ball arced across the
field.

Bob winced as there was a sound of breaking glass. "Good one," he
said. "I would slap you in the back if I'm not sure your bulldog
wouldn't misconstrue it as some sort of foreplay and break me into
pieces."



Bob had the sense to flee, leaving Dawson to face Jason.

"I told you not to see him," Jason started to say furiously. He
hadn't said a word when he ordered Dawson to get into his car, or
along their drive home. But he exploded the moment the front door
was slammed shut most forcefully. Jason never liked public
displays of emotions.

"I've had a great time," Dawson said simply. He had long learned
that arguing with Jason was futile, since Jason would only put a
hurt expression and Dawson would cave in. "That's reason enough to
hang out with Bob."

"Are you fucking him?" Jason yelled, startling Dawson.

"No," Dawson said, taking a step back in fear. Jason had never
lost his temper before, in fact, Dawson didn't even know the man
had one. Now, however, Jason's face was murderous enough to kill.
"Jason, I -"

"Are you going to fuck him?" Jason asked, his voice steadier now
as he fought to get a hold on himself.

"He and I are just friends, damn it. What the fuck is wrong with
you?" Dawson said furiously, his bravado fuelled by his fear. "Bob
treats me with respect and he makes me laugh. And we're just that
- friends. I'm happy, Jase, so please don't take that happiness
from me. Ask me anything, and I would do it, but not this."

"He made you laugh," Jason said softly. "He made you happy."

"Jase, what's wrong?" Dawson asked, tenderly touching Jason's arm
and felt the man's muscle tensed under his touch.

"Nothing - nothing, I - fuck." Jason turned angrily. "Fine, I
don't know why I'm acting this way. But all I know is that I can't
bear it, Deuce. I want to be the only one who can make you happy.
I want you to laugh only for me. I want you to cling on to me,
needing me and only me. That's what I want, Deuce. Just you and
me, like before."

"Oh Jase, do you know what you are saying?" Dawson felt his
resolve waver and his bravado break.

"I don't like your plans, I don't like Bob, and I don't like this
idea of you wanting to be independent of me," Jason said. "That's
all I know. Deuce, I gave everything in my life to you! You are my
life, and now you tell me you don't want me. What the hell am I
supposed to feel? Happy?" He broke back what sounded like a sob.
"I can't do this. Fuck, I'm going to bed. We'll talk in the
morning."

Dawson just watched helplessly, tears running down his face, as
his life stormed out of the room, a broken man at last.



He didn't know how long he had walked, or where he was going, but
perhaps a part of him did. For he found himself knocking at the
door of Bob's motel room.

"Hi," he said when Bob gawked at him. "Can I come in?"



"Sounds like he's nuts," Bob said, watching as Dawson gulped down
the hot coffee gratefully. He mulled over the tale Dawson had told
him. "I'm sure things will get back to normal when I leave this
Friday."

"I can't. Do you know what this means?" Dawson said. "He wants me
dependent on him, because he feels it is my due after all the
years he has given of himself to me. I love him. Bob, yes I do, I
love him more than a brother, which I guess you know already."

Bob only shrugged.

"And it will kill me to live with him this way, knowing there's no
chance I can ever -" Dawson bit back a sob. "Anyway, he gets this
insanely possessive of me. If I stay with him, I will never be
allowed to get a chance at being my own man. I can't have him, he
won't let me have anyone, and in the end I will go mad."

"There's an obvious solution to the problem," Bob said.

"Which is?"

"You can come with me. Not as a lover or anything, but I can put
you up in a room at my place until you get something up on your
own. The only problem here is what you will say to Jason, but then
again, who says you need to tell him anything face-to-face?"

"Leave Jason?" An unbearable thought, but the alternative was
worse. He would die under Jason's misguided ideas of care.



"Hi." Jason smiled, the hint of uncertainty barely showing in its
brilliance, as he walked into the kitchen. "What are you making?
Toast?"

Dawson smiled weakly. His knees were trembling, and Screw-up Smith
was at the brink of losing all his resolution. But he had to do
this, he told himself fiercely. When Jason left for work, Dawson
would leave a note and flee. It was a cowardly thing to do, but he
knew there was no way he could face Jason and tell the man he was
leaving, not without losing his nerves to his lust, love, and
Jason's charismatic magnetism.

"Look, I'm sorry about last night." Jason placed his arms on
Dawson's shoulders and reached down to kiss the man's neck like a
lover. "I'm not myself. Forgive me?"

Jason was touching him too much like an intimate lover that Dawson
couldn't take this. He gasped from the red haze of lust in his
senses as he clumsily shook off Jason's embrace. "You're
forgiven," he muttered shakily, knowing as he did that Jason
wouldn't forgive him when he found out what Dawson did to him
after this.

Jason was silent, standing still at the place where Dawson moved
away from him. "I found your bags," Jason said softly.

Dawson froze, his hands on the table. Trust him to screw up even
this. "Jase, I -"

"You're leaving me," Jason said, his voice disbelieving. "For that
man? You're dumping me just for some quick fuck?"

Dawson edged towards the door. "I'm not fucking Bob," he said
shakily. "I just want to rearrange my wardrobe, and figured that
it's easier to put my clothes in the suitcases than messing them
up on the bed." Coward, but even now he couldn't tell Jason.

Jason's eyes darkened dangerously. "You're lying. To me," he said.
"You've never lied to me before."

Dawson tried to run out of the door, but Jason was faster, closing
the door shut before Dawson could reach it. "I won't let you leave
me," the man growled. "You're mine, Deuce. Don't you fucking get
it? You can't leave me, because you won't find anyone who will
take care of you like me."

"Jason, please," Dawson whispered.

"You want fuck? I can fuck you," Jason said fiercely. His hands
shook as he slammed Dawson against the wall. "In fact, if that's
what you want, I can give it to you. Here, now."

Not like this, please God, not like this, Dawson wanted to scream.
He tried to push the man off, but Jason was too large, too heavy.
Dawson screamed when Jason threw him flat on the floor. He closed
his eyes, sobbing as he felt Jason's merciless hands ripped his
clothes off. Jason's woolen shirt rubbed against his bare chest as
the man roughly mounted Dawson. There was a loud sound of a zip
being pulled down, and then Dawson was sobbing through the
blinding white pain ripping through him when Jason's thick,
swollen cock forged its way up his anus. Jason was too large,
Dawson felt as if he was being split in two.

Rough, hard thrusts ripped through Dawson, sending waves of agony
spasming through him. Dawson tried to break free, but Jason's
hands pinned his to the floor, and the man's cock speared Dawson
to the ground more effectively than any weight. Dawson hated Jason
at that very moment for destroying this, destroying him,
destroying them both with his mad jealousy.

Jason's brutal thrusts were agonizing, but the man's eyes were the
worst. The man's eyes burned with lust, as if his jealousy had
unleashed long suppressed tidal waves of illicit lust for his
brother. There was a brief moment of horror in Jason's eyes upon
his penetration, as if he had just realized what he had done to
them both. But Dawson's treacherous anus was too tight and only
too willing to close and convulse around his massive shaft, urging
him on even as the man fought him.

Then Jason was kissing Dawson. A bruising kiss Dawson could take,
but this was a gentle tender kiss, almost apologetic in nature.
"Forgive me," Jason murmured then, as his thrusts slowed into a
rhythm of a sensual lover's, "Oh God, Deuce, forgive me."

The softness in the man's voice was more merciless than the brutal
thrusts between Dawson's legs. In a slow melt, Dawson groaned as
Jason's kiss deepened into an orgy of sensual caresses with his
tongue. The man's hands released Dawson's arms from their bruising
grip Dawson's thighs, and then he was driving his cock up Dawson's
ass more relentlessly.

Then Jason was so deep up Dawson that Dawson gasped. And the man's
mouth was so gentle, so loving, just like the fantasy Jason in
Dawson's dreams, that Dawson couldn't resist kissing him back,
holding the man close to him as Jason gave a loud cry of triumph
and thrust hilt deep one last time. His ejaculate scorched
Dawson's brutally raped anus, branding the man, and Dawson wept
bitterly even as his body became ravaged in his splintering
climax.



Robert didn't ask when he saw the bruise on Dawson's arms and lips
that afternoon. "Shall we go?" he just asked.

Thus, Dawson was gone when Jason opened his eyes. He groaned, the
excesses of last night's emotional turmoil giving him a headache.
Jason reached for Dawson, but when his hands touched only air, he
called out the man's name.

"Deuce," he called, heedless of his nudity as he climbed the
stairs to Dawson's room. But the room was empty. The bags were
gone too from where Jason hid them. "Deuce," he said softly,
knowing even then that Dawson was gone but he couldn't believe it.
He couldn't stand it.

A harsh sob broke from him as he fell on his knees. "Deuce," he
said again, this time in a ragged whisper, "please don't leave
me." Only then did his bitter, tears of defeat and regret begin to
fall.



FOUR

Dawson looked at the man walking up to him. It was close to five
and he was eager to finish this batch and get off for the evening.
He froze however when he saw the familiar square-jawed face.

"Hi," Jason Patric said, looking real breathtaking in his
charming, confident self.

"Hi." The burger fell to the floor. Dawson reached to pick it up,
but Jason beat him to it. "Hey, nice seeing you."

"How's life?" Jason asked, tossing the soiled meat into the
wastebasket nearby.

"Good. I have a job, and I'm taking night classes as planned.
Studies are quite a struggle, but I can manage," Dawson said
nonchalantly. In truth, he had also dreamed of Jason, hating him,
loving him. "I'm staying at Bob's place, until I can save up to
pay rent."

"Bob's good to you. That's nice." Jason hesitated. "You don't want
to know how I've been?"

"Your life is always perfect," Dawson said.

"No, not when you're not in it." Jason smiled in self-effacing
bitterness. "I'm envious of Rob. I have no idea how much I love
you, or even how I love you, until you're gone."

"There is a time when I would have given anything to hear that."

"I know you love me, and I like that. You make me feel important
and whole. In fact, you're the reason I work and do my best for
everything I do." Seeing Dawson's surprise, he clarified, "You
believe in me and I love you for that. I always do, because your
belief in me makes me invincible. When Rob came in and you started
to pay attention to him, I couldn't take it. I didn't know then
how important you are to me. How much I have come to depend on you
for my strength -" Jason hesitated, then said, "You're wrong,
Deuce. I need you as much as you need me. Maybe more."

Dawson couldn't dare speak, but he did anyway. "Why are you
telling me this, Jase?"

"I need to tell you this because I can't bear to have you hating
me for my abominable behavior that day towards you," Jason said,
looking away in his pain. "If I can't have you, at least let me
have the knowledge that you'll forgive me?"

When Jason was hurting and broken like this, a shell of the man he
once was, Dawson - the stupid ass he was - couldn't bear it.
"Sure," he said shakily.

"Then good." Jason tried to smile, but couldn't. "Thank you," he
said, his voice all uncertainty. "I love you, Deuce, and you've
changed much in two months. I'm happy for you and Bob," he said,
but he couldn't hide his envy and bitterness.

Dawson watched Jason turn to leave, and counted to five. "Jase, I
am never with Bob. We're good friends," he said. And it was now or
never. "Don't go."



In the darkness of the Jason's hotel room, illuminated only by the
bedside lamp, they kissed.

Jason touched Dawson's bruised lips, and looked at the drop of
blood on his finger. "I love you, Deuce," he said, before sucking
at the drop on his finger.

Dawson looked at the man and felt his breath catch. Jason was so
beautiful, his cavalier and gladiator who fought all of his
battles for him. He tried to smile, but failed as his trembling
hands slowly fumbled with Jason's shirt. Jason lifted his arms, he
having no problem grinning as Dawson pulled the man's shirt off.
Dawson let his eyes feast on the perfectly formed muscular torso,
and let his hands touch the rock-hard pectoral muscle under soft,
supple, and tanned skin.

Jason's large hands closed over Dawson's even as the man leaned
forward, slanting his head as he rubbed his lips against Dawson's.
His tongue snaked out, rubbing along the shape of Dawson's lips,
moistening them. Then Dawson opened his mouth and answered Jason's
kiss with his own.

Their lust flared, and Dawson gasped when Jason roughly deepened
the kiss. Those lips worshipped Dawson's mouth, neck, ears, and
shoulders. Dawson could only gasp for breath in the one second
when Jason stepped back. Even then Dawson could only lift his arms
in turn before Jason roughly pulled the man's shirt over his head.

Their now nude upper bodies in an embrace, Jason continued his
exploration of Dawson's flesh, letting his tongue trail along
Dawson's frail collarbone and his hands touching and feeling the
too-thin man's frail body. He now had Dawson lying on the couch,
and he laughed softly when he looked at Dawson's face.

"You're so beautiful, Jase," Dawson breathed in awe, feeling his
heart fill, as he touched Jason's perfect chest, feeling the large
wine-brown nipples harden under his palm.

Jason threw his head back and bit back a sigh when Dawson's mouth
closed over his nipple. Another hand gently pinched and massaged
his other nipple as Dawson gently sucked on Jason's erect nipple.
Jason couldn't bear the orgy of sensations raking him from the
insistent throbbing of his cock to the mouth feasting on his
nipple. As he unfastened his trousers, he pushed his chest forward
so that Dawson could suck harder. Now the other man's tongue was
prodding his nipple, licking it and playing with it, and Jason
gasped when he finally pushed his trousers down his hips.

His cock jutted free, and he grasped it, using his thumb to smooth
the clear fluid droplets oozing from the slit on the head.
"Deuce," he whispered softly.

Dawson let his upper body fall back and looked at the cock rearing
like a mighty weapon from the thick bush at Jason's crotch. For a
moment he felt a cold wash of fear as he remembered their first
fuck, but now, the look on Jason's face was his benediction. Jason
looked at him as if he was Jason's lodestone and the most
important reason for his life.

Silly man, it should be the other way around.

"I was a fucking idiot, Deuce, and I know I hurt you. I won't hurt
you anymore, I swear it. I will kill myself first before I hurt
you," Jason started to say, misinterpreting the look on Dawson's
face.

Dawson silenced the man with a kiss. He straddled Jason, and
squatted, legs as far apart as he could, over that thick, rigid
cock standing stiff and poking at the juncture of his thighs. He
closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as he pushed experimentally
down on it.

Jason broke off the kiss and looked down as he felt the tight ring
of muscles of Dawson's anal entrance stretching to close over the
tip of his cock. He growled, steadying his throbbing cock with one
hand and placing the other hand on Dawson's hip, urging him to
move down on that cock. He thrust upwards slowly, not wishing to
hurt Dawson.

He lifted his hips and heard Dawson's low groan, and watched as
another inch speared up that tight anus.

Dawson placed his palms wide on Jason's fast sweat-soaked chest,
delighting in the feel of the tight muscles under his palm. "I
guess you're now my personal stud service as well, huh?" he asked
playfully, then gritting his teeth as he began riding Jason,
grinding his hips up and down slowly, punctuating his downward
buck with a gyrating grind that had Jason moaning approvingly.

"I'm yours to command," Jason answered, his own hips bucking in
rhythm with Dawson's fucking. "All you have to do is ask, Deuce.
Oh God, ride me harder. Like that."

Dawson gave a wild cry as Jason bucked up hard, ramming himself up
to the hilt.

The other man smoothly turned them over, so that Jason was on top
of Dawson. Dawson lifted his legs and placed them around Jason's
neck. "God, you're a good fuck," Jason gasped, sweat pouring down
his forehead as he began pumping Dawson in earnest. "Marry me."

Dawson could only gasp in reply, his hands feeling the tightly-
knotted muscles of Jason's back and buttocks as he moaned, his
prostate getting the fucking of its life as Jason's huge wide cock
head banged at it hard again and again. The heated friction was
driving him wild - oh God, Jason's cock packed him so well, and he
could feel every vein on Jason's thick cock shaft burning into the
muscular walls of his fast heating up anus. He could feel his
insides give way, melting their resistance to Jason's insistence
fuck pumps - he bucked his hips, crying out wildly as his
guardian's mouth now latched on his nipples, sucking them one by
one, biting them, even using his teeth.

Jason was now breathing harshly, his cock was like a piston as it
pounded its fuck rhythm, driving them both to orgasm. Dawson let
his hand fell to the floor, then rubbed his stomach, feeling his
own muscles clench taut in response to the hard pounding he was
receiving up his ass. He reached for his cock, wanting to rub
himself to the much-needed climax, but a growl from Jason stopped
him.

Jason didn't - couldn't speak - but his dark blue eyes warned
Dawson that soon he would want a piece of Dawson's cock as well.
Dawson felt something in his groin snap. Warmth flooded his
insides, and he arched his back, his hand reaching to feel the
shaft of Jason's now slick and slippery cock pumping his ass. He
curved his fingers to encircle that pumping cock. Jason looked
down, and his eyes followed Dawson's hand as it left the cock and
the latter's tongue licked at the stains on those fingers. Jason
bent forward, his own tongue snaking out to lick at Dawson's
fingers, tasting himself and Dawson. His tongue found Dawson's,
licking each other as well as those fingers, and they were kissing
hard when Jason snapped. He groaned heavily, shuddering, tasting
Dawson's mouth deeply, when his cock exploded, his juices gushing
forth to drench Dawson's insides.

When Jason opened his eyes, he smiled almost shyly as he touched
the cheek of the man in his arms. "Marry me, Deuce," he said
softly. "I won't stop you from getting a life outside of me, and I
won't stop you from trying to succeed. I swear it, Deuce." His
voice faltered. "Even if you won't marry me, can we still see each
other?" he said, again misreading Dawson's expression. "I'm sorry
if I didn't please you, but I'll be here always if you need -"

Dawson placed a finger on his lips, silencing the man. "I'm yours,
Jase. Ever since the beginning."

Jason pressed his face into Dawson's hair and inhaled, trying to
steady his emotions. For the first time in a long while, he was at
peace. This was Dawson in his arms. "Go to sleep, love," he
whispered, "I'll hold you until morning."
