Gentlemen’s Game
LICHEN CRAIG
Copyright 2012 Lichen Craig
Smashwords Edition
GENTLEMEN'S GAME. Copyright © 2012 by Lichen Craig. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
DEDICATION
This book is for my sister, with thanks for her encouragement, enthusiasm and support.
And for Nicole Revol, for her tireless reading and reviewing, devoted cheerleading, never-ending humor, wild imagination, and her friendship. You are my muse.
And for Matthew Gray Gubler, the fruits of whose wonderful imagination sparked something in my own.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my test readers for hours of reading and proofreading. You were instrumental in getting this book finished.
And thank you to Dr. Jack Drescher, for his assistance with research into sexual identity and bisexuality.
1
Jesus, what am I doing here?
Greyson placed a hand on the wall of the express elevator for balance as the car shot upward, leaving his stomach on the first floor. He gathered his wits in a best effort to appear outwardly calm even as his brain was screaming, and bravely offered a deliberate smile to his companion. It was too late to turn around, to change his mind. He was in the elevator now. He'd look like an idiot. He drew a deep, concentrated breath. At the top of the building was a penthouse, in which - he told himself in the midst of a continuous monologue of self-encouragement - he was going to have a great time. Whatever came to pass.
Scottie Steele watched Greyson with not a small amount of amusement; the young man's effort at calm was a flimsy cover for his terror as his eyes moved restlessly up to flying numbers measuring the elevator's progress and his lanky frame steadied itself against the wall. This was going to be very interesting. Truth be told, Scottie was impressed with Greyson's sense of adventure; after all, it would be only a bit over four weeks since they'd met. Ever since Greyson had walked into Scottie's office, searching for a property outside the city to which he could escape on weekends, Scottie had liked him immensely. The Greyson Foster in person, standing in his office of all places, out of all the realtors available in the New York area. The young playwright carried himself with an innate elegance, spoke quietly, exuded intelligence, his conversation punctuated by a gentle, near-shy smile. The smile of someone who was painfully self-aware. Over lunch that same day, Scottie had listened to Greyson talk about his need for more quiet time to write, and had marveled at the absolute modesty with which he spoke: he seemed to really have no idea that he was one of the most talked about new playwrights in the theater capitol of the world.
And so Scottie had been drawn in by Greyson's quiet but considerable personal charm from the first, and found hearing about his work in the world of theater fascinating. In the space of a week Scottie had found three prospective properties, and each had required a day's road trip to see - which neither had minded. Greyson wanted isolation, forest, dirt roads with dead ends. Hours spent in the car had allowed the two to become fast friends. "I wish my wife could meet you," Scottie had said, "She loves theater. She told me who you were before I even realized," he added, laughing.
Greyson had smiled softly and looked out of the car window, "She's easily impressed. I've been lucky is all."
On the evening of the eighth day they sat together in Scottie's favorite pub and ordered a third round. "What do you do for fun, Greyson? You don't talk about fun much," Scottie asked, his eyes mocking.
Greyson laughed. "Fun," he repeated, thinking. Then he said, "I probably could use more of that." He took a sip of cognac. "I have been trying to build a career for so long it seems, just had my nose to the grindstone." His eyes met Scottie's for a moment and he realized he might sound ungrateful, "Oh, don't get me wrong, I like what I do, and I'm thankful people actually like it, but I think I've. . . maybe forgotten how to play, especially in the last few years . . ."
"You watch sports much?" Scottie asked.
"Sometimes. Depends on what it is."
". . . Because I get together with these guys once in a while to watch football and play cards, talk, cook and eat too much, whatever. We take a whole Saturday, morning to late. It's great. You could come." Scottie studied Greyson thoughtfully, wondering how he was going to bring up the rest of the scenario. Not certain that he wanted to. He had spent a lot of time with his young friend, but still couldn't get a read on him when it came to his private life.
"Yeah, I might think about that. Thanks for asking." Greyson, ever polite, often non-committing, raised his glass toward Scottie and took another sip. "I used to play a lot of cards in college. I kind of miss it."
"You have a girlfriend?" Scottie said smoothly, leaning back in his chair, watching for Greyson's reaction to the sudden personal question.
Greyson raised an eyebrow, "Uh . . . no. Not now. I did, I had a fiancé." Then he deftly, almost imperceptibly, turned the direction of the conversation (something he was good at, as are many such kind people), "How long have you been married?"
Scottie didn't realize that it had turned, and settled into the comfort zone that Greyson created. "Seven years. It's good. She's . . . she's good, great. We're friends. You know. So it's great."
"And you have kids."
"Yes, the three little girls. You saw their photos in my office, remember. I like being a family man."
Scottie signaled the waiter, thinking that a fourth whiskey was going to put him under the table if he didn't eat something. "You're young, Greyson. You have a lot of time to get married, Man. How old are you?"
"Twenty-eight. Sometimes I feel like I'm going on fifty." Greyson declined an offer for another drink from the waiter with a soft smile, and the woman's eyes slid slowly over him and lingered as she picked up the used glasses and turned and left.
Scottie cleared his throat. Take the plunge, see what he does. He felt his face flush uncharacteristically, but he pushed on. "Greyson, uh, you know those get-togethers I have with this group of guys. Well," he stopped and looked at the rim of his glass, searching for the next words.
Greyson leaned forward, sensing and confused by Scottie's reticence. "You're all good friends?"
"Yeah. They are nice guys. The thing is, we are all married and we each have been for a long time. We have a great time together though, just guy time I guess."
"That's probably a good thing, getting away from the stress of your jobs, and from your families . . ."
"It is. We have all known each other for . . . well, I've known Jack for about . . . fifteen, no sixteen years, since we were in college. I've known Colin for at least. . . nine. So this isn't something. . . " Scottie shifted in his seat and then looked Greyson hard in the eye, saying plainly, "When we get together, we usually end up having sex."
Greyson's face betrayed no emotion, but his hand stopped midair as he was lifting his glass. His eyes flitted from Scottie's left to his right and back again, quickly. "What do you mean?" he said evenly. Then he took his sip slowly, nonchalantly.
Scottie met Greyson's gaze and he didn't flinch as he elaborated. "All of us. Together. It's like a game. We don't tell anyone. What happens there stays there. It's all safe, I mean none of us has anything . . . so, the rule is we just do it when we are all together, we don't do it outside our group." He stopped then and took a mouthful of whiskey, swishing it around in his mouth and swallowing it slowly. He waited, thinking that he may have just ended the budding friendship.
Greyson finally stretched his long legs in front of him, crossing his ankles and leaning back. "And . . . how is that?"
Scottie laughed, lowly. "It's fun. It's just. . .sex. I mean, no one is gay or anything. It's just fucking for fun." He watched Greyson watching the liquor melt down the sides of the glass as he swirled it slowly. Then he asked, "You ever done that? For fun? You ever been with a guy?"
"No." A small forced laugh. "No, I have not." The long-lashed eyelids swept down again to the drink. Elegant, tapered fingers brushed back a lock of longish hair.
Scottie leaned back again and smiled to himself. Greyson didn't comment further, and Scottie didn't push. He just watched. For the next half hour, the conversation was easy and light. No damage done.
One hour later, the cab they had shared pulled over in front of Scottie's building. "Come to dinner Wednesday?" Scottie asked, "Diana and the girls will be away at her folks' for the week and I'll be bored stiff. I'm a decent cook, we'll watch a movie or something?"
Greyson shrugged. "Sure, okay. Thanks."
Scottie turned away and opened the door to exit the cab, "I'll call you." He gave the driver enough to cover the ride for both of them.
~~//~~
On Wednesday, Greyson stood on the terrace of Scottie's apartment after dinner and looked over at the building opposite. A man sat on his terrace with a beer and a newspaper. The traffic in the street below seemed a world apart from this height.
"I think this terrace is worth the price of the apartment," Scottie commented and lighted two torch-lights against the falling daylight. "I actually spend a lot of time out here. We have to be a little careful with the girls around, but they are getting big enough that they know not to jump," he laughed when Greyson looked at him.
Greyson smiled at the joke, "I think I would too. I really like a view from high up."
"You don't get that?"
"No, I live in the townhouse, and it's nice enough, a common courtyard and garden. No view though to speak of."
"What?" Scottie stopped where he was clearing away dishes from the outdoor table, "No terrace to jump off? What would you do if you had to kill yourself?" He laughed loudly at Greyson's bewildered expression. In the near two weeks that they had hung out together, he had discovered Greyson to be one serious man. He secretly had made it a personal mission to loosen the guy up a bit. "Or don't writers do that anymore?" He disappeared into the apartment with the dishes.
Greyson shook his head and smiled. It had done him good to make a friend in Scottie, someone outside the theater world. Since coming to New York four years earlier, he had known only work and Lisa. No time for much else. And after Lisa was gone, there didn't seem to be much he wanted to face doing but to throw himself into the work.
He knew that work had been his way to avoid having to look at what had gone wrong in the relationship, but he had come to think it through in his own time, slowly. He knew that he had proposed for the wrong reasons. She was right to leave him, sensing that his feelings for her were less than they should have been. There had been a lot of good things - laughter, people and interests in common, but there had been no deep love. He had convinced himself that it wasn't necessary to a good marriage. He had wanted a wife and kids, a family, a stable foundation to look at when the end of the day came. He had wanted to get on with an adult life - to have the things others around him seemed to have acquired so easily. He knew that he was a solid, honest, loyal man - wasn't that all it would take to be a great spouse? And he had wanted to have someone in the world whose presence he could rely upon. That was something he hadn't had for many years. But she had been right to see through him, the shallow intent. She had been right to leave. He didn't miss her as a romantic partner, but he missed her as a friend. Because in truth he had few of those, and he didn't know how to seek them out. Greyson was a contemplative, private sort of man, and although he was aware that his charm drew others in, he had found few people that he wished to keep near. Words he needed to say and didn't say to a companion, he spoke through the plays. His words and ideas wafted out into the world in this way, although they were never bounced back. The intensity of this feeling of having a voice when he was writing kept him from getting lonely. He was generally content with his life.
But he had found himself changed after the jolt of surprise at Lisa's having dumped him, and it was a change he still didn't understand. It was as if - because the pieces of the life he had planned for himself weren't falling neatly into place - he had begun to panic, and was trying to find a Greyson he didn't know. One that he would become, one that would make more sense. One that might be safer. The feeling of this new revelation and enterprise was both exhilarating and unsettling. He was tired of the usual this and that, the normal middle class customs, the blandness of life. His life. After Lisa and the mess he had made with all his plans for normalcy and domesticity, he had promised himself as he watched the age of thirty draw nearer that he would open his arms and mind to life in a way he hadn't before, and with renewed enthusiasm. It would inform his experience and make him a better writer, and he might learn something in the process about himself. He might get some idea of where he was heading. He might even discover an inkling of where he wanted to be, some newly informed understanding of possibilities. And he might stop being so goddamned lost.
And so Greyson had promised himself that he would reach out for life, expand his horizons, in any way he could. The first step was to move pieces of his life outside the comfort zone of the theater world. Buy a place in the middle of nowhere at which to write in quiet solitude with himself, maybe travel, maybe meet people who didn't see everything in life in terms of the New York entertainment world. Scottie was part of that outside world, and Greyson was pleased with himself for taking the first steps toward his new goals.
He was leaning into the breeze wafting up and around with the darkened sky, and enjoying the sight of the lights and noise below, when he felt something. A caress. A hand brushing his side and around his waist. Teeth biting down gently on his earlobe. Scottie pressed himself against Greyson's back and slid his hand to the crotch, grasping Greyson through his trousers. Not overly-aggressive, not polite, far from hesitant. Silently demanding.
If I want to stop this I need to do it now. Before he goes too far. Greyson felt goose bumps rise on his arms and neck, and had the brief sensation that it was someone else that this was happening to, as if he were watching a film. He felt bewildered. Wasn't there supposed to be some foreplay? Some flirtation? Would there not have had to have been some heat between them over dinner? Some spark over all the days spent together? (Wasn't that how any sexual liaison began between two people - with sparks?) But there was not, and there had not been. It's just fucking for fun. And so this was how straight guys did each other. For fun.
Greyson found himself ultra-aware of the details. The assertive, masculine way in which he was being seduced. The feel of Scottie's fingers on his zipper, moving the trousers aside with absolute authority. The scratch of Scottie's beard on his back, and then the feel of Scottie's hands on his waist turning him around, and the scratch of Scottie's face again as it brushed Greyson's inner thigh. He found himself analyzing in a near-clinical fashion his own response. All the physiological steps were there - a quickening of his breath, his pulse pounding, a groan involuntarily escaping his mouth, his cock hardening and lifting toward Scottie's mouth. The familiar yearning to be stroked. My God this is happening. With a man.
Greyson looked down at Scottie sucking his cock and felt the delicious tightening inside his testicles. He put a hand on Scottie's head and buried his fingers in the other man's dark hair, offering encouragement. He wondered what Scottie would do as he felt Greyson near climax - pull away or swallow. Scottie worked around the head with his tongue slowly and smiled up at Greyson, which caused Greyson to moan again. When Scottie once again enveloped the organ with his mouth, Greyson closed his eyes and knew it wouldn't be long before he lost control. But then Scottie suddenly let the cock fall from his mouth and stood. He looked at Greyson's eyes, and then smiling, at his mouth. Then he kissed him roughly and deeply, his tongue demanding that Greyson's meet his.
Greyson was aware of Scottie's hand, firm at the back of his neck, holding him into the kiss. He fought the impulse to resist, a thought running through his mind that he had never been taken, but had always been the one to do the taking. The one to do the taking out of expectation. Now, it was difficult to surrender. Scottie was unbuttoning Greyson's shirt, and then slipping his tongue onto a nipple, licking, sucking, biting. Greyson swallowed hard, closing his eyes, and felt the cool of the evening breeze on his exposed groin and his trousers where they lay tangled around his ankles.
He suddenly thought about the man on the terrace opposite. He wondered if that man had a telescope. "Scott. . . Scottie! What if someone is watching?"
Scottie licked Greyson's collarbone, and up his throat to his mouth. Greyson felt him smile against his face, "You want them to watch?" before devouring his mouth again. "You taste good. Like wine. . ." he growled, "Your mouth is so pretty, your lips. I can't get enough. . ." It felt good. Really good. At some point Greyson stopped analyzing, stopped questioning, and gave himself up.
Then Scottie said, "Turn around," and his hands once again went to Greyson's trim waist, this time to turn him to face the table. "Bend." Greyson's heart began to pound. He felt Scottie move his foot against Greyson's legs to spread them wider. The foreign feel of rough fingers feeling up his crack, and then probing his hole. The cold of something wet - lubricant? His own fear. Then surprise, when it felt so good - a finger, pushing into him. Tiny ring of muscle giving way. Penetration.
Penetration. I am now technically being fucked. Again, the startling cold of lube then the artificial warming sensation, as fingers slowly smoothed it up into him. The charge that made his cock jump in anticipation and the breathless realization that Scottie was purposely pressing his prostate. The wild longing to have that never stop. The insane thought that, right now, as he felt the head of Scottie's cock pushing at his asshole and the feel of Scottie's hot breath on his neck whispering, "Just relax, just relax. . ." he might actually start begging out loud to be fucked by a guy.
Two weeks later, Scottie called Greyson to say that the group was getting together on the weekend and that Greyson was welcome to join them. For cards, food, football and whatever else. He was only mildly surprised when Greyson accepted.
~~//~~
2
"Greyson, how do you do," Jack Miles shook Greyson's hand firmly, his gray eyes twinkling. "Glad you could make it."
Greyson regarded the man before him and returned the handshake just as firmly, offering a smile. He was struck by their host's easy grace. Jack's gray eyes danced when he spoke; they, along with his smile and handshake, were warm. Jack was strongly built, not as tall as Greyson, but his presence was immediately arresting. Greyson's writer's mind wondered at the dichotomy: surely someone who was rumored to have climbed to the status of billionaire possessed a necessary ruthless streak. But he could see no hint of cruelty in this man. Still, Jack had the presence of a bull dog - as personable and attractive as he was, a frenetic energy boiled visibly below the surface and gave the observer pause. Greyson supposed that few men had ever dared to cross Jack Miles.
Jack turned and led them through the doorway and the foyer into the penthouse, padding in thick socks. Greyson wondered how often the man had the occasion to wear faded jeans and a polo shirt instead of a suit.
"Colin's in the living room. Come on in."
Greyson's eyes swept over the expanse of the large living room. The far side was comprised all of drapeless glass windows, looking out over the Manhattan skyline. Greyson's work had occasionally brought him into contact with money - people in the entertainment industry who had acquired more toys and square footage than they needed to have in order to live comfortably. He was only mildly impressed by shows of ostentatious living and had found that most such apartments were all decorated the same - modernistic, overly-expensive blah. But this room was beautiful. Light, airy blues and greens combined with tan and gold in a mix of geometric-patterned fabrics and understated floral wallpapers. A large fireplace stood at one end, and beside it a massive large-screen TV was mounted on the wall and a game was in progress, the sound muted. The heavy oak furnishings were substantial, serious, masculine. Works of sculpture that suggested to Greyson that they were European imports occupied several lit niches in the walls. He wondered if all the artwork and paintings were original.
Jack noticed Greyson's gaze. "You like it?" he smiled, and without requiring an answer continued, "I like it. Had a girl from Boston work on it with me." He turned, hands casually on his hips, and looked over the room himself, as if he hadn't done so in a while. "Yes, it turned out well."
"It's very nice. Nicely done." Greyson agreed.
"I'll give you the full tour in a bit, if you'd be interested. Colin, here's Greyson."
"Why it's Mr. Foster," smiled a man with a friendly, open face and a shock of sandy red hair as he rose and offered his hand. "We've been anticipating your arrival with baited breath. Scottie tells us you're quite the man."
Greyson wondered what that meant - "quite the man". And then he wondered what else Scottie had told them about him. He had the realization that he was a bit younger than the other three, whom he suspected were in their late thirties to early forties, according to hints that he had picked up from Scottie. All were businessmen, all considerably if not enormously financially successful. He suddenly felt inadequate - he was a writer for God's sake; they had probably had a laugh about that before he arrived. And he was overdressed. He suddenly felt like the new toy for the afternoon. He felt his face flush and hoped that the change in his color wasn't visible. He pushed his long bangs back behind an ear.
"You need a drink," Jack said, looking at Greyson. He smiled, taking in the young man's nervousness.
"I'll get it," said Scottie, making himself at home and heading toward the kitchen. Greyson noted that he wasn’t asked for his preference.
Colin's eyes traveled up and down Greyson's lanky form. "You always dress with such . . . aplomb? You have that casual put together but-I-really-didn't-try-much thing going on. I never could pull that off," he laughed, and Jack joined him. Greyson smiled and shifted on his feet. "Uh. Well. I model once in a while, and I guess I picked it up." The silence was deafening, and he wondered hopefully if he was the only one noticing it. "Well, I didn't seek it out," he forced a chuckle, "I was sitting in a cafe alone - back in college - and this model scout just came up to me. I thought he was a pervert and didn't call the number on the business card he gave me, for a week." Laughter. Score. He relaxed. "Anyway, it paid for college." He flushed again to realize he was talking about making money. A little money. To get through college. Christ.
"You still model?" Jack was asking as he motioned Greyson toward an overstuffed chair at the card table.
"Uh . . . yeah, once in a while. They still hire me for some reason," Greyson offered a smile.
"I don't think I've ever met a male model in person," said Colin, addressing Jack and wrinkling his nose.
"I don't find it surprising at all," said Jack as he sat opposite. "You're a good-looking kid."
Greyson cleared his throat. "I don't work out much. I'm thin, not too much muscle. I always get to be the guy in an ad who looks like the cool half-starved heroin junkie. Seems to be a trend right now."
"But you get to meet beautiful women," said Colin.
Greyson paused to acknowledge the glass of Scotch that Scottie had set before him. "Thank you so much." He smiled at Colin, "Doesn't mean they would date me, unfortunately."
"I never get that model-thin too-tall thing," said Scottie, dropping into the fourth chair around the table. "I need some tits and ass."
"Something to hold on to for leverage," Colin winked and raised his glass. Scottie let out a guffaw. Jack smiled and dealt the cards for a game with which Greyson was unfamiliar.
Jesus, what am I doing here? Greyson wondered.
~~//~~
Jack looked across the table at the newcomer. The young man had been visibly nervous when he arrived. Jack knew that Scottie had shared with him what would likely happen at one of their Sunday gatherings, and he knew that Greyson was straight. And green - if Scottie hasn't broken him in, Jack smiled to himself. Their game was harmless fun, but all of them had been hesitant at first - it had started as a joking dare during one drunken evening, and developed into a now long-standing tradition. Bringing in someone new was something they had discussed from time to time, but each of them had thus far been reluctant to act upon it. If their secret were ever found out it would hurt people - wives, children. Worlds would fall apart. Jack Miles was not without scruples. He didn't want anyone hurt.
They had long since agreed that any newcomer would have to be clean, discreet, a man of a certain quality of character. But the possibility of making a mistake in their choice, of chancing that disease be spread to wives, or that a word be leaked in a moment of carelessness, had given them enough pause that the idea had never come to fruition. Until a few weeks earlier, when Scottie had come to them with the story of this young playwright he had met. He had been confident that they had found a suitable addition. If Greyson Foster was amenable, that is.
Now, sizing up Greyson, Jack found himself hoping that the young man was amenable, and wouldn't run. He had trusted Scottie's judgment, but had some lingering doubt that Scottie's enthusiasm - due to the limitations of personal taste and bias - would actually be matched by his and Colin's upon meeting Greyson. But before him sat a striking, articulate, physically beautiful young man who possessed impeccable manners, a natural intelligence, and had immediately displayed a marked kindness of disposition - something that Jack particularly admired. And yet, there was a quiet presence - a calm that Greyson seemed to have, an air of not wishing to impress at another's expense, a reluctance to vie for position or stoop to male posturing, a willingness to remain quietly in the background during the conversation, only to occasionally contribute a well-considered thought. This calm belied his many strong attributes. Jack found himself instantly impressed by the young man. He allowed his eyes to travel over Greyson's chiseled face, the heavily-lidded hazel eyes, the smooth skin, the arresting smile. The longish, boyishly coiffed light brown hair that periodically fell into his eyes. He caught Colin doing the same, and Scottie's appreciation for Greyson's physical attributes was obvious from the moment they entered the penthouse. Only Greyson seemed not to notice their scarcely-hidden silent appraisal, bent over his cards as he quickly learned the game.
By the end of four hours, Greyson had won the last six hands. He fidgeted slightly in his chair, for the first time since his nervous arrival. "I guess I'm on a lucky streak," he offered as apologetic explanation.
"He's a fast learner," Scottie beamed, pleased that his foundling was living up to expectations.
"I'm starving," said Colin, sighing and putting his cards down. "What are we doing for serious food, Jack?"
"I'm cooking." Jack smiled and rose. "Can I get anyone another drink while I'm up?"
Greyson feared that another Scotch would have him stretched out cold on the floor if he didn't eat something besides cashews. He stood to stretch his cramping limbs. "May I help you, Jack?"
The kitchen contained professional-grade equipment, which Grey imagined served caterers and hired chefs well on occasion. But Jack Miles, it turned out, knew how to wield that equipment himself. "You cook, Grey?"
Greyson paused where he stood watching, having not heard himself called "Grey" since his father had used the nickname some nine or ten years earlier. When he had still had a father. He found himself warmed when Jack said it. He watched Jack as he expertly minced garlic and chopped mushrooms. He had forced himself to relax during the entertaining banter of the card game, think about the football match, and push out of his mind any thought of the evening to come. But now, he found himself looking at each of the men and thinking that in some few hours he might know each more intimately than he could imagine.
Colin was lean like Greyson, wiry and strong and the tallest of the pack. His coloring - from the fiery red strands in his hair to his flashing blue eyes and pale freckled skin - matched his personality. Greyson supposed that his fighting, cynical spirit had served him well in the world of legal maneuvering of estate settlement. Scottie was muscular and classically handsome. When they had been out together in previous weeks, Greyson had noticed women turning to look as Scottie walked by. He thought to himself that perhaps he should feel lucky to have had Scottie as his first - any gay man would probably be quite impressed. My first. I have a first, for God's sake. Jack's body was stocky, but lean and muscled. Jack was thoroughly male. He was not quite as tall as Greyson - who stood well over six feet and then some. Jack's hair was black and softly curly, his complexion ruddy. His magnetism leapt out at each person he addressed, and shone fiercely through the gray eyes. Greyson thought that Jack was one of the rare persons whose very physicality was so warm, so inviting, so reassuring in some indefinable sense, that one instantly felt at ease in his presence. Greyson found himself having to remember that he was standing in the kitchen with a million - scratch that - a billionaire, who was cooking him dinner. Jack seemed like the guy you grew up next door to, to whom you could always go for advice or call upon in a crisis. His ready smile during the day had more than once put Greyson at ease. There seemed to be not a bit of mean-spiritedness in him - a quality that intrigued the younger man, whose intelligence told him again that a man didn't make a billion dollars by the age of forty without a bit of cold blood in his veins.
Greyson felt a cold chill as they sat around the dining table with fine wine and Chicken Marsala, realizing that the day had been immensely enjoyable. But the perfection of the meal eerily punctuated a perfect gathering - where the real event had yet to begin. He chided himself for his reticence. After all, no one was forcing him, and what was he afraid of? He certainly didn't possess any actual moral reservations, the "game" seeming harmless enough. He wondered briefly how the three men dealt with the morality of cheating on their wives, but that was none of his business. He was still a bit shocked at himself for having had spontaneous sex with Scottie - if a little embarrassed to have been so inexperienced while Scottie took the lead, and not a little bit pleased at himself that he had stepped out of his comfort zone. It hadn't been traumatic, if a little weird. How bad could this be? How many men ever experienced group sex with a bunch of millionaires? He had to relax and just go with it. Just relax. He'd find a woman some day. For now he was free to do this. And why not? He was, after all, finding the improved, worldly and more enlightened Greyson. Who would certainly know how to suck a guy off better than he did. Just relax, dammit.
~~//~~
Greyson dried the last of the dinner's wine glasses and carefully returned it to a glass-fronted cupboard. Dinner settled into his stomach and wine in his veins, he was feeling much closer to contentment than he had earlier. The atmosphere of the penthouse was even more inviting in the glow of lamplight. Colin and Scottie perused a cookbook in the corner of the kitchen. Jack had finally closed and started the dishwasher, when he slowly crossed the room to stand beside Greyson.
"You okay?" the warm, slow smile inquired.
"Yeah, sure," Greyson smiled, concentrating on folding the dishtowel over a rack. "I'm good." He felt his neck grow warm with embarrassment to realize that Jack was aware of his nervousness and its cause. But he was also touched by the concern. He met Jack's eyes, smiling again.
To his amazement, Jack slowly leaned toward him and gently pressed his mouth to Greyson's. His mouth was confident but non-insistent, willing Greyson's mouth to meet his. He moved his lips slowly across Greyson's as if he enjoyed feeling the fullness of Greyson's lips, and tenderly kissed the corner of the young man's mouth before pulling away. He didn't meet Greyson's eyes again before calmly crossing the kitchen to perform some unfinished task, leaving Greyson looking after him with still-parted lips, amazed at the realization that his knees had not buckled. The two in the corner stood alert, inspired, having witnessed the tiny prelude to seduction into the next phase of the evening. A half-smirked smile decorated Colin's face. Greyson met their eyes and looked away, willing his respiration to return to normal, astounded and disturbed that a man's kiss had so affected him.
~~//~~
Jack was showing Greyson through the remainder of the 5,000-square-foot penthouse apartment. Greyson liked the way Jack showed it as if it belonged to someone else - no trace of gloating, simply a love of architecture and art and a willingness to share his interests. "It's a little bigger than what I needed. My wife and kids are really never here now. But I love it and it's a place in the city."
"You have kids?" It occurred to Greyson that it would be a fortunate kid that would have such an example for a father.
"Yeah, two boys. Thirteen and fifteen. They all live in Connecticut. I commute. We didn't want the boys growing up in the city."
In the master bedroom were family photographs. Greyson lingered in the doorway while Jack fetched a few recent photos from a bookshelf. The boys shared their father's looks, both strapping and dark-haired, looking older than their ages, both possessing the same easy grin. The younger shared the softer, more exotic look of his mother's Greek roots, whom Greyson judged to be quite a beautiful woman. As he looked at her he wondered if Jack kissed her the way he had kissed Greyson, and was immediately ashamed of the thought.
At the end of the hallway, Jack turned to Greyson, paused and laughed, "Scottie told you about The Shower?"
"He and Colin just said that it was something to be seen. It has a . . . view?"
Jack laughed again and ushered Greyson into a large bedroom with a sitting room and fireplace. It had in common with the other bedrooms an enormous heavy four-poster bed (once again Greyson felt a twinge at the thought of the furniture delivery persons having to get five such beds up to the penthouse and assemble them: a job fit for Hell to be sure. Not to mention the enormous chests, dressers and armoires in each room). In this room, the doors of an armoire stood open, showcasing a collection of antique coverlets and quilts.
"I have always been fascinated by textiles, as a whole. . ." mused Greyson as he approached the collection. He paused and turned to Jack, "May I?"
"Of course!" Jack smiled as he watched Greyson lift each to admire the one underneath. "I recall that some of them are dated to around 1854. We remove and refold them occasionally to prevent stress and wear on fold-lines. It's a shame to keep them in the cupboard like this, but they need to be out of the light as much as possible. I really need to sort through them and donate to a museum." He chuckled. "Someone else can worry about taking care of them properly. I didn't consider that when I bought them."
"You bought them?" asked Greyson, "Not your wife?"
"Oh, no. Everything in this place is my doing. She isn't too interested."
Greyson's eyes shone with interest as he passed his hand over a red-on-white quilt. "Did you know they don't even make these dyes now, and we aren't certain of what they were comprised, or what the fabric colors really looked like when they were new?" He stood back suddenly, lowering his eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you know that."
"No, actually, I didn't," Jack said, his eyes lingering on Greyson's face. "You know, maybe you should take time to take them all out sometime, really get a good look. You could make some notes for me."
Greyson laughed softly, "I don't know how qualified I am to do that. At one time I thought about becoming certified as an appraiser of antique textiles. It takes some money and some spare time. . . "
"You seem to have a real appreciation for antiques," remarked Jack, referring to the comments Greyson had made on various objects as they passed through the residence. "Something we share."
Greyson met Jack's eyes and he smiled. "Please," Jack continued, "Feel welcome to take them out sometime and take a better look."
"Thank you, Jack. Thank you very much."
A sound from the adjacent bathroom caused Greyson to turn.
"Ah, they are ahead of us," smiled Jack, and with a nod of his head motioned for Greyson to follow.
Greyson stepped behind Jack into the largest bathroom he had ever seen. It was easily twenty-five by fifteen feet. The walls, the floor, everything was tile, arranged in ornate patterns of beige, peach and occasional dark blue. Greyson's eyes first fell upon the shower stall, which took up an entire wall. It featured five shower heads, and a back wall that was made entirely of glass and looked out over the city lights. "Good grief!" he breathed, drawing a laugh from Jack.
The second thing his eyes fell upon was Scottie and Colin. Colin was seated sprawled on a stone tile bench at the far end of the long room in front of the shower. His head was thrown back and resting against the wall, and he smiled slyly at Jack and Greyson. He was entirely nude. Scottie, his chest bare, knelt between Colin's legs, his head moving over Colin's groin.
"You've started without us?" Jack joked. "Bad manners, not waiting for our new guest." He smiled at Greyson, who stood staring, not realizing that his mouth was agape. Jack casually began to remove his shirt and socks, and then slowly undid the button and zipper of his jeans. He watched Greyson hesitate, uncertainty playing over the handsome features. Smiling gently, he stepped toward Greyson to face him. "Relax," he said lowly, unbuttoning Greyson's shirt, "Just breathe, go with it, enjoy yourself. There is really nothing else to do." He pushed the shirt off Greyson's shoulders, and let it fall. "Oh by the way, there are condoms in a bowl in this bedroom if you would like one - but we don't really need them of course. We trust that you don’t."
Greyson felt Jack's breath near his face and let the low timbre of the voice soothe him. He avoided meeting Jack's eyes and slowly pulled his hands free of the shirt sleeves, then reached to hang the shirt on a nearby towel hook and missed the hook twice before finally catching the collar of the shirt. He listened frantically to his own breathing, his mind grasping details in an effort to remain grounded in reality, noting that his hands had become clammy. Jack stepped back and removed his jeans. Then he went to take a pile of over-sized towels from a cabinet and tossed them onto a chair near to the shower.
Scottie and Colin were already climbing into the shower, turning on the spigots, chatting and laughing at a mutual joke. It occurred to Greyson that it sounded like the happy, testosterone-laced banter in a locker room after a sports competition or gym class. Jack stepped in and joined them. Suddenly aware that he was lagging, Greyson pried his eyes from the scene and removed his trousers, shoes and socks. Shaking with both anticipation and trepidation - the latter currently more overwhelming - he joined them in the shower.
The warm water pelting down on the happy group, along with the remaining wine in his blood, tempted Greyson to begin to relax. He watched as Jack soaped Colin's back and shoulders, and then ran soapy hands over the man's buttocks, leaning around to kiss him hard on the mouth. Fingers slid slowly into the crack of his ass, soaping it liberally.
"Hey, Man," Scottie said softly, "Let me . . ." and brought soapy hands slowly over Greyson's shoulders, down his torso, around his hips. He gently smiled into Greyson's eyes and backed Greyson into the warm water of the shower. "Feel good?"
Greyson nodded. "Yeah," he stammered.
"Shhhhhh . . . it's just like the other night, it's just me, Greyson," Scottie soothed and continued to rub over Greyson's chest. He took one of Greyson's hands and squirted liquid soap generously into the palm. Then he placed it on his own cock, hard between them. Greyson hesitantly closed his hand around the man's shaft, feeling the slippery soap. He gripped harder and stroked up and down. "Ah, yeah. . ." Scottie groaned, "That's good." Scottie's hands traveled down over Greyson's backside and gripped his cheeks. He licked a trail around Greyson's nipple, then closed his mouth over the erect nipple to suckle. Greyson felt his own cock hard and engorged. He closed his eyes and felt the sensation of Scottie's body near his.
Greyson opened his eyes and looked across the shower. Jack had pinned Colin against the tiled wall, and was moving his soapy fingers in and out of Colin's asshole. Then Jack positioned himself behind Colin, saying something low to the other man, and he suddenly entered Colin in one thrust, shoving him against the wall. Colin moaned a series of pleasure-induced sounds, indecipherable over the pattering of the water, and gripped his own cock to masturbate while Jack pumped into him. In a burst of spontaneity, Greyson dropped to his knees, nervously glancing up into Scottie's eyes. Scottie smiled his encouragement, and Greyson took the head of Scottie's cock between his lips.
Greyson closed his eyes, becoming used to the feel. The hardness of Scottie's cock, like the hardness of his own. It's like sucking yourself, he thought, amused. He imagined what he would want, and did it. His mouth closed firmly over Scottie, his tongue teasing underneath. Scottie moaned loudly and gripped Greyson's wet hair. Greyson began to lose himself in the sensations, the feel of the hardness of the warm taut skin, the smooth surface texture, the raised rim around the head, the tiny slit in the top, where he tasted salty precum and found himself pleased by it and surprisingly aroused. He suddenly determined with confidence that he would swallow when Scottie's moment came. He felt Scottie's legs tremble and felt him try to move away. So Greyson gripped his ass tighter and held him.
"Greyson, I'm going to blow, Man."
Greyson only sucked harder, moving his mouth to take more of Scottie in, increasing the rhythm of his slow slide up and down. Suddenly he heard a cry at the other end of the shower - Jack? Colin? Someone was coming. And then he felt Scottie's body freeze and felt warm liquid spurt into his throat. He swallowed, sucking lightly to finish Scottie off, and swallowed again. When he slid his mouth off, Scottie was leaning hands on Greyson's shoulders, head down, breathing hard, spent. Greyson rose and took Scottie into his arms, nuzzling his neck, pressing his own erection into Scottie's abdomen. His cock was insistent, sending a message.
After a few minutes, Scottie raised sex-drowsy eyes to Greyson's, and slid to the floor of the shower, positioning himself on his hands and knees under the flow of water. Greyson was aware as he squirted soap into his hand that he was no longer shaking. He slid to the floor behind Scottie and used his slippery fingers to push past the puckered sphincter of muscle into Scottie's hole and coat Scottie's insides with the lubricant. I'm going to fuck a man. And as he slid two soapy fingers deep into Scottie he once again had the feeling that he was not a participant but an observer, standing across the room watching someone who looked like himself stuff his fingers up another man's ass. He moved his fingers carefully in and out, remembering the way Scottie had curved his fingers toward the front to hit the prostate. He heard Scottie moan softly as he tucked his head down, positioning his legs wider, giving more access, sending the invitation.
Greyson concentrated again on his own screaming hard-on, stroking a coat of soap up and down the shaft. He moved close behind Scottie, and placed the head against Scottie’s opening. He closed his eyes and pushed, feeling the muscles give way. He gasped as he slid quickly into the warm tunnel, against the pleasure of the sensation. As he pumped deeply in and out, pictures flashed through his mind - himself pumping into Lisa, Scottie kneeling before him days before and sucking him into delighted abandon, Colin's eyes sweeping up and down his body, shining soapy skin, Jacks fingers in Colin's asshole, Scottie's shiny engorged cock before his eyes, Jack swiftly entering Colin, and then he suddenly felt the memory of Jack's mouth moving across his lips, and he exploded.
~~//~~
After the initial play in the showers, Greyson lay down nude on the end of the bed to gather the pieces of his thoughts and rest his body - awakened in a way it had never felt before by the strange new sights, sounds and sensations. He closed his eyes, heard himself sigh deeply and heard someone come again in other room, and felt himself smiling.
He felt the bed stir beside him as a male body stretched out by his side. Lips brushed his shoulder. He turned his face and opened his eyes. Jack. Greyson felt his heartbeat speed up - Jack had yet to come to him, and something within him wanted it badly - sexual attention most particularly from this man. Jack's countenance was rugged and raw and inviting, and handsome in a different way than was his own fine-featured face. His eyes fell on Jack's mouth. Amazed at his boldness, he heard himself say in a low demanding tone, "Kiss me like that again." Jack's clear eyes searched his own, moving back and forth for several seconds. Then, the feel of Jack's mouth meeting his own was unbearably sweet. Jack's lips explored his gently, thoroughly, as they had before in the kitchen, and Greyson nearly choked in trying to breathe evenly. Finally he moved his hand into Jack's hair and pressed his own mouth harder to Jack's and Jack parted his lips and allowed Greyson's tongue to slide inside the warmth. Greyson had a fleeting thought that he hadn't enjoyed kissing so much since he was fifteen. It was new, hot, spicy-sweet, exhilarating, blindingly intimate.
They kissed for what seemed like several minutes, and then Jack moved to kneel on the bed beside Greyson. Suddenly a firm body slid underneath Greyson's back, and strong arms reached to grasp the back of his thighs, spreading them. A slow lick on his neck. Scottie.
And then Jack was kneeling between Greyson's legs, licking his balls, tonguing Greyson’s hole, gently sucking his balls into the wetness of his mouth. Greyson heard himself moaning again and closed his eyes, laying his head back against Scottie's chest and relishing Scottie's mouth on his ears, his neck. As Greyson’s mind was beginning to reel at the thought that he was being touched by two men, Jack's mouth closed over his cock. And then, yet another cock tickled his lips. He opened his mouth, after some time realizing that it was Colin he must be sucking. He remembered reading that a person could pass out in the throes of sexual pleasure and hoped that he wasn't near such a potentially humiliating moment. When he came, he had the sensation that Jack was sucking every last drop of ejaculate from him before releasing the cock from his mouth.
Scottie slid out from under him, and the feeling of the withdrawal of the warmth of the man's arms left Greyson feeling a keen loss. Coupled with Jack's disappearance, it left him feeling a jarring, hollow emptiness. Scottie propped two pillows under Greyson's head and kissed his forehead before also vanishing into the cavern of the rest of the penthouse. Colin repositioned himself, kneeling with his knees near Greyson's shoulders to slide his cock again into Greyson's mouth.
Now knowing himself to be one of the group, newly baptized, Greyson commenced to sucking it with abandon, marveling at how each of the two cocks - Scottie's and Colin's - had felt a bit different from the other in his mouth. He wondered how his own felt, if it had pleased the others.
When Colin came he yelled, "Yeah! That's it! Oh BABY!" and Greyson stifled the impulse to laugh, now understanding that Colin was the most vocal of the group. He smiled up at Colin as the latter pulled out. Colin sat back on his haunches over Greyson's chest, his already pink complexion now a hot red flush that filled his face and crawled down his throat and over his chest. "You're good-looking when you come," Greyson heard himself say. Colin laughed, spent a few minutes catching his breath and climbed off Greyson. He put his hand out, "Come on Boytoy, shower time."
~~//~~
Greyson felt the bed stir and a warm shoulder move away from his face, a warm ribcage move away from his chest. As he reluctantly climbed upward from a sound, dreamless sleep he heard deep breathing behind him, then the sigh of another's waking further away. "Shit, Guys," he heard Scottie saying, "It's past 1:00 a.m."
Colin's voice came then, drowsily, "God. I have a meeting in six hours." He heard Scottie pad toward the bathroom, and felt Colin rise. Greyson ran his hands through his hair and opened his eyes. Where are my clothes?
Twenty minutes later, all had partly succeeded in shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, and were dressed and filing into the foyer. Colin finished adjusting his hat before the hall mirror and turned to Greyson with a wink, putting out his hand, "Hey Mr. Foster, Playwright and Model. It's been a pleasure . . . getting to know you." Scottie approached them then and laid a hand on Colin's back to talk about a meeting for dinner the next week. Greyson turned toward the door, and smiled as Jack fell into step with him. Jack's hair was wet, and the scent of soap wafted up Greyson's nostrils, bringing back fleeting scenes of the night before. At the door, Jack ran a hand over the young man's shoulder and leaned to move his mouth close to Greyson's ear, murmuring, "I want to see you alone," causing Greyson in his surprise to wonder if he had heard the words correctly. Greyson felt his pulse pound and could only nod in assent, looking back into Jack's smiling eyes. He felt like a teenager with a terrible crush, whose most fervent prayer had just been answered.
He was still speechless as Scottie joined him saying, "Let's get a cab together." As they watched the elevator doors close, he thought about what a wreck he had been earlier during the ride up. Now, he wondered in anticipation when they would all meet again for a repeat of the last thirteen hours. He didn't want to assume that he had been accepted into the group for future get-togethers, but he instinctively felt that he had been - accepted into this group where he was the odd man out. He had certainly been the novelty of the event; he now understood that they had all anticipated sexual enjoyment of him. He wondered momentarily if that was it - if the big boys had had their fun with him and now this would be the only time. Then suddenly he felt himself panic at the thought of never meeting Jack Miles again.
"You okay?" he heard Scottie ask, pulling him back from his thoughts.
"Oh, yeah, just tired. Thanks for asking." He sighed and leaned against the wall, wishing he were already alone at his own place to rest, to think over the day's experiences. Where he was already nearer his own bed, away from the fantasy-world atmosphere of this experience.
~~//~~
3
Jack straightened his tie as he sat in the back of the limo and tried to ignore the unusually deplorable state of the morning's traffic. Nothing he could do about it. He would let David, his driver, worry about it. He would think about something else. Something pleasant. Calming. Like the calm, cool composure of Greyson Foster as he had sat at Jack's table the day before, his large hazel eyes warmly regarding the unfamiliar faces, his long, graceful hands expertly shuffling the cards. A Mona Lisa half-smile tickling his lips.
Jack smiled to recall how Greyson had failed to conceal his nerves when he had arrived, but had recovered so admirably throughout the day to show his truer self - an extraordinarily gentle, calm, self-possessed spirit. How breathtakingly refreshing it had been - this young man's earnest, unstudied demeanor. His scarce understanding of the intricacies of the business world. His modest reluctance to expound upon his own accomplishments in the realm of writing. The palpable kindness that wove its way through his words every time he addressed the other men.
Jack had enjoyed kissing Greyson's mouth in a way he had never enjoyed kissing another man - the feel so familiar, the taste of Greyson irresistible like some long forgotten favorite childhood treat. Perhaps, Jack mused, it was because Greyson was rather androgynous, his prettiness rather enticing, his elegant grace of movement something from which Jack had been unable to pry his eyes. Jack had found himself mesmerized and intensely interested in Greyson's every utterance, every hint about his life and background. And there hadn't been many of those: Greyson seemed to be a private man.