To: Gabe Foster           

From: Dylan Mitchell    

 

Two hours later, I virtually fall through my front door. The journey home had been horrendous, with strikes on the tube making a simple journey something more akin to a Greek odyssey. My day is almost complete, when I step forward and promptly fall over a suitcase lying on the floor.

“Fuck!” I ease up to a sitting position, viewing the offending article which is spewing clothes left, right, and centre. “Jude,” I bellow. “Why the fuck can’t you put your bloody stuff away?”

I hear footsteps, and he appears, naked apart from a white towel wrapped around his waist. As normal, he looks utterly gorgeous and camera ready. He’s all long legs, dark curls, and olive skin, with a heart-shaped face made older by the addition of a new beard. “Dylan,” he says delightedly. Then his face creases in concern. “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

“Because I didn’t see your fucking luggage,” I grumble, putting out a hand for him to haul me up.

“You should really look where you’re going,” he says primly, making me laugh reluctantly. “That’s better, you’ve got a face like a wet weekend. What the hell happened to you today?”

“Boss Man,” I say grimly, and when he looks at me, I shake my head. “Don’t ask. It’s been a long day.”

He smiles at me. “A long day spent with His Gorgeousness. I don’t know how you stand it.”

“I don’t know how I stand it either, but I doubt it’s for the same reason as you.”

He stares at me for a second. “Really?” he asks, with a lively scepticism. “I doubt that, Dylan. You’ve got eyes in your head.”

“Yes, but unfortunately, I’ve got ears as well, which means I have to listen to him all day.”

Ignoring his sceptical expression with the ease of practice, I make my way past him and collapse on a sofa with a sigh of relief. “Fucking hell, that was a hideous journey home.” I roll my head back to look at him as he settles opposite me. “When did you get home?”

“Lunchtime.” He settles back on the opposite sofa with a sound of contentment. “I’m glad to be home. Helsinki is fine, but nowhere feels like home.”

I snort. “Yeah, I feel your pain. Poor you in the five star hotels, eating out every night with pretty boys.”

He shakes his head chidingly. “I’m not after casual pieces of ass anymore. I told you that.”

I flash a grin at him. “I know you said it, I just didn’t really believe it.”

“Well, believe it. I’m a reformed man. I want something serious. I’ve taken a leaf out of your book.”

I grunt. “Take the whole fucking tree, Jude. It’s never done me any good.”

He shakes his head. “I know you’ve had a bit of bad luck in the romance area.”

“A bit? You do remember Jason, don’t you?”

He snorts. “Okay, a lot of bad luck.”

“Jesus, he brought a suitcase of his clothes over the first night that we fucked.”

He bursts into laughter. “And then there was Robert.”

“Laugh it up you giant wanker, but you were fucking scared of Robert.”

“It wasn’t so much Robert, more his unhealthy interest in the occult.”

I sigh. “I think he’s a high priest now.” I twist my head to look at him. “And you want some of that? Are you mental?”

He sighs. “I don’t want your own personal brand of looney tunes per se. I just want someone that’s mine, and who’s loyal.”

“Good luck with that,” I say morosely. “Men like that are rarer than rocking horse shit.”

“What about Boss Man?”

I close my eyes and groan. “How many times do I have to tell you that I fucking hate him?”

“Once more than your voice dipping low every time that you mention his name.”

I want to glare at him, but settle for raising my middle finger at the twat. “How long are you back for?”

“About a week, then I’m off to Fiji.”

“Of course you are,” I mutter. “So, what’s on the agenda for this week?”

He looks at me and bites his lip. “Well, I’m glad you asked, Dylan, because I have a piece of fantastic news.”

“Oh God,” I groan. “I know that look. What is it?”

He shakes his head. “No need for that tone of voice,” he chides. “Really Dylan, you’ve got awfully cynical since you went corporate.” He pauses, and says with a flourish, “I’ve only got free tickets for Haunt.”

“Really? Isn’t that the place to be seen now?”

“Oh, that superior tone of voice. How I’ve missed that.”

“What?” I laugh and then relent. “Okay, it’s a gay club, isn’t it?”

“It’s not just any gay club. It’s the private club at the moment, and it’s extremely selective about its members. I’ve heard all sorts of famous people go there because they’re guaranteed complete discretion.”

“Ah, the closeted celebrities. So I take it that you want to go and ogle them like they’re in a private zoo?”

He sits forward. “Of course I do, babe, and you’re coming with me.”

I sigh and rub my eyes. “Okay, when are we going?”

He checks his watch. “In about an hour?”

I sit up abruptly. “What the fuck, Jude?”

He holds up his hand. “Save it, Dylan. I know that you’re tired, but go and have a long shower and I’ll pour you a drink.” He looks at me. “Okay, I’ll leave the bottle with you.” He laughs as I flip him off. “Sorry that was low, but come on, Dylan. We haven’t gone clubbing in bloody ages, and I miss you, you staid fucker.” He reads the surrender in my face and smiles. “Go and shower, and I’ll find you something to wear.”

I stand up and stretch. “Okay, but nothing too tight, Jude.” He casts me a look, and I shake my finger at him. “I mean it. I need my circulation. I’m still a young man.”

“A young man with the soul of a sixty-five-year-old at the moment,” he returns, as I move past him. “Now hurry up and get your club on.”

An hour later we pull up outside the club. Emerging from the taxi, I pull petulantly at my black, muscle-fit, long-sleeved t-shirt. “Fucking hell, Jude. You can see how cold my nipples are in this, and these black jeans are so tight that if I take them off there’ll be an imprint of my dick on them.”

He laughs and slaps my arse. “Well hello, Sister Dylan. How nice to meet your puritanical self.”

I follow him, still pulling at my shirt. “Is it puritanical to not want to tell the general public that I’ve been circumcised?”

A blonde in the queue for the club turns around and looks me up and down. “Oh baby, that’s not puritanical, that’s damn right charitable showing those eight inches off.”

Jude laughs, and pushes me past the long line of people standing waiting, their breaths white on the cold air, until we get to a red rope blocking the way. He flashes his invitation card at the massive bouncer dressed in a tux on the door, and ignoring the cat calls, we gratefully escape into the toasty warmth of the foyer.

As Jude joins the coat check line to hand in his jacket, I look around curiously. The foyer is relatively small for a club, indicating a place that doesn’t make its patrons wait around. It’s panelled in walnut, and is bright and warm. There’s a big door to the left through which people are entering, letting out the deep, bass thump of music. Unbidden, I feel a stirring of excitement.

Jude comes up behind me, and taking one look at my face, he laughs and slaps my back. “There’s my Dylan. I haven’t seen him in far too long.”

“Shut up,” I mutter, and then grab his hand, dragging him to the door. “Come on. I want to drink my weight in alcohol, and get on the dance floor.”

We fight our way to the bar ploughing through groups of people, and it’s immediately apparent that this isn’t a routine club. Everywhere looks expensive, from the bright white and silver decor which makes everything look light, to the massive dance floor made of varnished planks. The huge bar is made up of onyx and silver, and festooned with low hanging, warm, white lights. Raised plinths are scattered around the room, on which dance, or rather writhe, scantily clad men.

Finally reaching the bar, Jude immediately secures the attention of the barman, simply by standing there and smiling. I briefly contemplate whether this would work with Gabe, imagining me just smiling and cocking my hip while he shouts for me to take down a letter. I snort out a laugh because the high likelihood is that he would think I’d had some sort of breakdown.

Jude catches my eye and hands me a shot of something dark red. “What’s this?” I shout.

“Cherry vodka shots,” he shouts back. “Nice and warm like you, my little sweet cheeks.”

“Fuck off,” I groan, and on his signal, we shoot them down. The burn is instant, and I lick my lips, capturing the sweetness there. “Another,” I shout in his ear and he grins, motioning to the bartender for another three shots apiece.

While he’s occupied, I look around idly. The place is packed, but not to the claustrophobic proportions that I’ve seen in other clubs, and I watch the dancers writhing and grinding, enjoying the anticipation that has always filled me in a club.

I love to dance, and I’d always found nightclubs exciting, ever since the first one that I’d snuck into aged fifteen with Jude. I think then it was the sense of anticipation of a hook up, and the not knowing what might happen. Now, I secretly know that the anticipation comes from the chance that I might meet someone special. I sigh. Jude was right. I am an old man.

He comes up from behind and nudges me, handing me the shots as I laugh. We shoot them quickly, enjoying the warmth, and then I pull him onto the dance floor.

We stay there for the next couple of hours, dancing to nearly everything, and breaking only to get another shot. After two hours I have a decent buzz on, and I’m starting to get thirsty.

Leaning up, I shout to Jude that I’m going to get some water, and he nods, smiling as he watches a particularly beautiful man circle him as if he’s chum in the water. Patting him on the back, I leave him to it, secure in the knowledge that it is highly possible his vow to find fidelity might take a battering tonight, as will his hole. I laugh out loud at that and push my way to the bar.

It takes me slightly longer to get served than it did Jude, as I lack his startling beauty. I know I’m considered good-looking, with brown-blonde hair, a thin, square-jawed face with green eyes, and an olive-coloured complexion. I’m lean and muscled, but more like a runner than Jude’s gym-honed physique. However, I have never really seen myself as anything special, probably because I’ve had a lifetime of standing next to Jude.

I order a couple of bottles of water when the bartender finally sees me, and then push away from the bar, deciding to lean against the walnut balustrade to watch the dancers and cool down.

I’ve only been standing there for about a minute when I feel a body lean in next to me. Turning I see a good-looking blonde man who looks vaguely familiar, staring at me.

“Hi,” he shouts, leaning close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath wash across my neck, which makes me shudder slightly.

I smile back. “Hi, yourself.”

“Have you been here long?”

I shrug. “A couple of hours maybe. How about you?”

“Same. Have you been here before?”

I’ve found in the past, very good-looking people quite often don’t bother to develop the fine art of chat up, and Mr Pretty is obviously no exception. Inwardly sighing, I shake my head. “No, first time.”

He smiles widely. “Ah, a club virgin.”

I laugh, settling my back against the balustrade, and telling myself to relax and enjoy the tentative steps of the light flirtation. I have a feeling it will turn heavy soon enough, which is fine with me. “Not sure about that. Are you a member?”

He smiles and nods, coming in a bit closer under the guise of making himself heard. “Yes, I know the owner. He’s done a good job with it.”

I suddenly realise where I’ve seen him before, which is on the cover of a fashion magazine. He’s a model, and I’m sure that Jude knows him. I become aware that he’s still talking. “Are you a member?”

I shake my head, half wishing we could just go and fuck in the toilets like normal people, rather than make all this polite conversation. “I came with my flatmate. He got the tickets.” I point Jude out, who is currently grinding against his next conquest, and he jerks in recognition.

“You know Jude Bailey?”

I nod. “I’ve known him since we were in nursery together. Why? Do you know him?”

He scoffs. “Of course. Everyone knows Jude.”

I straighten, not sure that I like his tone. “What do you mean by that?” I ask, my voice deepening with aggression, and he puts up his hands.

“Sorry, he’s your friend.”

“I thought I’d made that patently clear, mate.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just that I worked with him on the Levi’s job last year. He’s a nice guy, but it was an absolutely shit shoot.”

I relax now that he’s lightened up his tone. “Why?”

“Jude and the photographer famously didn’t get on. They spent the entire week bitching at each other like an old married couple until finally, the photographer asked him to bend over, and Jude told him to buy him dinner and to at least warm the lube first.”

I throw my head back laughing, and he leans even closer, running his hand down my arm. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs. “Have you ever considered modelling?”

I shake my head. Why did men always think that was a come on? “Not since Jude made it sound like the next best thing to a gulag.”

He twists until he’s leaning into me, and I let out an involuntary moan as I feel his hard cock pressing and digging into my thigh. “How about we move this somewhere private?” he says into my ear, taking the opportunity to run his tongue along the shell of my ear. He grips the lobe lightly with his teeth before suckling it. A shiver runs down my spine, and I press into him harder. My ears have always been an erogenous zone, and just breathing onto them can make me hard.

He grunts, grabbing my hip and rubbing briefly against me. “Do you want to go somewhere quiet?” he asks, standing back and offering me his hand.

I look at him considering, and really, what am I waiting for - Prince Charming? I’ve not met him yet, and the chance of a hard fuck with someone who won’t expect anything of me sounds extremely good, especially when my life is spent at someone else’s beck and call.

For a brief, insane second, an image of Gabe comes into my head, but I push it determinedly away. He might rule my working life, but he doesn’t rule my head or my personal life. I smile at the man in front of me. “Why not.”

He smiles triumphantly and stands to one side as I twist to place my water on the low table by my side. It’s as I straighten that I see Gabe, and I’m struck dumb as if I’ve conjured him up just by thinking of him, rather like the villain in a bad film.

He’s standing to my right, leaning against the balustrade with his arms folded just like I’d been. However, while I’d been jostled about, it’s like an invisible force field surrounds him. I send my eyes down his body, dimly aware that the model is still standing behind me, but enjoying the opportunity to ogle Gabe without him knowing.

He’s wearing dark jeans and a sky-blue shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his tanned, muscled forearms. Simple clothes, but on him, they look like haute couture. His hair is tousled rather than beaten into submission as it is when he’s in the office, and his devilish eyebrows are quirked, giving him an air of caustic humour. I can see several men watching him avidly, but he isn’t paying them any attention at all.

Instead, he’s concentrating on something on the dance floor. I follow his gaze, eager to see what holds him in rapt attention, and then I jerk slightly as I see Fletcher. Not a total shock, but what is surprising is that his blonde partner is twined around a dark-haired man like poison ivy. I watch, my mouth hanging open, as Fletcher runs his fingers over the man’s lips, before lowering his head and fitting his own lips to him. They kiss avidly, tongues visible as the two men grind against each other in total tune with the music.

I look back at my boss expecting I don’t know what, maybe rage. Instead, he’s watching the two men closely, running his tongue slowly over his full, lower lip as if tasting them. I feel my cock stiffen involuntarily, and I can’t tear my eyes away, dimly registering movement behind me.

The song ends, and a slower one starts, and I see Fletcher look up and motion to Gabe to come to him. Gabe stands back however, and raises one long-fingered hand to motion Fletcher to him. His boyfriend grins up at him, and then he leans in whispering something to the dark-haired man. The man looks up and sees Gabe, and then grins back at Fletcher, saying something which makes him throw his head back and laugh.

Someone comes between me and my floor show, and I hiss impatiently, moving to stand by a pillar where I have a view of the unfolding scene. Fletcher and the other man have reached Gabe by now, and I watch like a voyeur as Fletcher reaches out, and with a finger through the button hole on Gabe’s shirt, he draws him to him. Gabe comes, his face impassive apart from that wickedly arched eyebrow, and when he’s close, Fletcher grabs him and pushes his hands into Gabe’s hair, drawing him to him and kissing him deeply.

They kiss for what feels like ages, and there’s something about the scene that turns me on beyond anything that I’ve ever experienced. I’m a twenty-seven-year-old gay man. I have had many partners, although not in high figures. I consider myself relaxed sexually and open to anything, and because of this I’ve seen and done a lot. However, nothing has prepared me to see my boss in an intense lip-lock with his boyfriend.

Against my will, my cock rises from a semi to a full-on erection so quickly that it almost makes me dizzy, and I absentmindedly palm it as I watch the dark-haired man move to stand next to the embracing couple. He stands there for a second, and then runs his hand down Gabe’s back, tracing the muscles and wide shoulders, moving down his body until he reaches his tight arse.

At first, I think that Gabe will turn on him. Instead, he lifts his lips from Fletcher’s and reaches for the other man, drawing him close, before lowering his head and taking the man’s mouth. He goes deep instantly, and I can almost feel the man’s moan on the air.

Fletcher watches for a second, his eyes bright. Then he twists until he and Gabe are sandwiching the dark-haired man, Gabe still kissing him, while Fletcher thrusts against him.

I’m amazed at the openness of the act, but then I suppose that this is a private club, and one that the senior partners of the firm are unlikely to attend.

I watch them for a long second, feeling a peculiar mix of feelings. I’m amazed at Gabe being so obviously accustomed to being part of a threesome. I’m not naïve. I’ve taken part in them myself, and although they were hot as fuck, they weren’t for me, requiring far too much attention to work out the logistical fairness of the act. A lot of men I know do them, and a few of my friends are in open relationships, and it works for them.

What bothers me is that I’ve somehow read Gabe’s character wrong. I’d seen him as a possessive man, who held what he owned tight to him. I’d obviously been wrong, because the most personal of his possessions is currently having his arse felt up and his tonsils examined.

However, what bothers me most is that it’s almost like a curtain has dropped from my eyes. For the first time since I’d met him, I’m now seeing him as a sexual man again, rather than just my boss. I’d pushed that initial awareness away for two years, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to function in my job if I kept it. But now it’s back front and centre, and I stand helplessly, my cock hurting in the tight confines of my jeans, as I watch the threesome.

It is then, with the worst timing known to mankind that Gabe looks up and sees me. He and Fletcher, almost by silent communion have stepped back gracefully and left the dark-haired man looking turned on and slightly confused. Fletcher is leaning forward whispering in his ear as he eagerly nods, but it’s at this point that Gabe looks around and finds me there, staring right at him.

For what seems like an aeon we stare at each other, and a gamut of emotions race across his previously placid, unmoved face. Surprise, concern, anger and then a dark, fierce look which in any other man I would have classed as lust. I dismiss that thought immediately, clinging onto the sole blessing that he can’t see my erection. God forbid that my boss should know that I had popped a stiffy while watching him and his boyfriend tongue fuck a complete stranger.

Something must have crossed my face though, because in contrast to his smooth, controlled movements so far, he makes a sudden, jerky lunge towards me, making me step back involuntarily into a stranger behind me.

The stranger curses, and in the flurry of apologies, I see Fletcher grab Gabe’s hand and say something to him. Gabe shakes his head and lets Fletcher pull him and his friend towards the exit, and by the time I’ve fully turned back, they are all gone.

Remembering suddenly that I’d had a model about to fuck me, I turn around, only to find empty space. He had obviously fucked off while I’d stood gawping rudely at another man.

I slump against the pillar, groaning. How am I going to get over this? Gabe now knows that his personal assistant has stood and watched him and his boyfriend personally fondle a complete stranger into almost an orgasm. The only thing missing had been a tub of popcorn and a handful of tissues.

However, the main problem is that the ignorant scales have fallen completely from my eyes. How can I look at my boss the way that I always have, when now I have this bone deep knowledge of his face when he’s aroused?

I groan again. “Fuck my life.”

A man standing next to me laughs. “Rough night, darling?” he asks, and I shake my head morosely.

“It’s going to be more than just a rough night. I can feel it.”