The Circus

"Say it Tommy," Bo sounded equally frantic now, he grabbed Tom's hips, hammering up into his body.

"Fuck! Bo, you know...I..," Tom struggled to speak, he wasn't sure why he was saying this. Sex is a terrible time for something like this, you know that. He did, but it didn't change anything.

"Say it," Bo's hand came crashing down on Tom's left buttock, making him shriek. Oh my god that feels so good.

"Bo," he wailed the name, "I need to cum Bo!" Tom was falling apart at the seams.

"Say the words Tommy!" Bo gave him two more sharp slaps on the arse, making his hole clench. Tom orgasm rushed closer, he registered Bo's distressed face beneath him, almost weeping with frustration, it pulled at his heart.

"I love you Ambrose," Tom whispered, tears streaming down his own face.

"Thank fuck," was the reply Tom barely heard before he succumbed to the most violent orgasm he'd ever experienced. Bo's own orgasm was quick to follow, it was nearly silent, what could have been a sob the only thing leave his wracking body. Tom was vaguely aware of his own voice whimpering 'I love you' over and over again as he came. The physical and emotional release combined were too much and Tom blacked out for the second time in Bo's company.

On any other day, waking up in one of Claridges' suites would have been the best thing about Tom's morning. Sadly for Claridge's, for the first time in his life, Tom woke up in the arms of the man he loved. He lay there for close to an hour, taking it all in, it was surreal to say the least. Tom had long accepted romantic relationships would never feature in his life, he was too damaged, too dirty. How differently he felt now. He woke on his back, panicking for a moment that he was alone before realised Bo was curled around his waist, nuzzled into Tom's ribs, he had slipped down in the bed as he often did when the size of the bed permitted it. He carefully extricated himself from the bed, testing his jellied legs before he got up, three times his legs had betrayed him after sex with Bo. Eventually, he made it to the bathroom, seeing to his ablutions before running the bath, no longer shocked when he saw his ravaged body in the mirror. His arse was fantastically sore but he tried to ignore it as he poured all four of the tiny bottles of body wash and shampoo into the bath. The bubbles were almost out of control by the time Tom turned off the taps. He was pulling the little hotel comb through the nest of his hair when he heard movement from the bedroom and a bleary eyed Bo appeared in the doorway. "Morning," Tom grinned, Bo always looked like a petulant child when he's just woken up. Bo gave a confused nod, splashing some ice cold water on his face before disappearing off towards the loo. In his absence, Tom sunk into the bath, his sore muscles thanking him, his arse protesting slightly. "Shuffle up," Bo's voice, still thick with sleep was behind him, Tom winced a little as he scooted forward, allowing Bo to get in behind him, adopting their usual position.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" Bo asked, trailing his fingers up and down Tom's arms.

"Huh? No way, I just got a little ahead of myself is all," Tom replied. They fell into comfortable silence, the crackle of tiny bubbles the only noise. Tom felt Bo's head on the back of his neck, his arms wrapping around and squeezing him from behind. "Hey, what's up?" Tom's concern grew, even angelic Bo wasn't usually this meek, he tried to twist around to see the man's face.

"Don't look at me right now," Bo sulked, "I feel all giddy and stupid." Tom laughed doubling his efforts,

"I think that's how love is supposed to feel," it was the first time the word had been brought up since their night before.

"I'm so happy you said it," Bo whispered into Tom's neck, squeezing him tighter.

"That's great Bo, but I can't actually breathe," Tom giggled, sounding lighter than he had in years. Bo released him, pouting and splashing him with water. They fooled around in the water for a while longer before Tom thought he might get some kind of heat stroke. Bo grabbed a duffel bag which turned out to be extra clothes and toiletries whilst Tom took a cool shower to calm himself. They dressed, fortunate that their shoes looked okay as Bo had forgotten spares, Tom scooped his hair into the least hipster-looking man bun he could manage, grateful the long sleeve tee Bo had packed for him covered his plethora of bites and bruises. They indulged in breakfast, returning to the buffet several times, Bo teasing Tom for his love of pastries. They were sipping coffees when Tom's phone buzzed, he quickly checked his messages, replying to Tiffany's sweet text wishing him and Bo and good night which had come through hours earlier.

Watson, John (Lawyer and wanker extraordinaire): Remember, Monday, 2pm. My office.

Tom visibly balked, he remembered alright, he was dreading it. "Everything okay?" Bo asked, looking up from the newspaper he was reading.

"Yeah," Tom sighed, "my total git of a lawyer wants a meeting on Monday, probably to tell me I'm spending too much money, or not enough money, something like that."

"Fun," Bo said sarcastically.

"He thinks just cause he worked for my dad that he's a family friend of sorts and that I should consult him at every turn, Tiff hates him," Tom bit into one of his abandoned pastries in anger.

"Want me to come with you?"

"Really?" the thought had never occurred to Tom. It could go badly, very badly, very, very badly.

"Why not? I studied law, I can at least help you out if he starts taking advantage," Bo smiled. Shit, you have no idea the kind of advantages he has taken. Tom nodded anyway, he was grateful for the support and hoped it would mean his meeting with John would be concise.

Chapter seventeen

Tom's jaw was clenched tight and he and Bo made their way up in the lift towards John's office. Bo was obviously aware of Tom's annoyance but had chosen, correctly, to stay quiet. The receptionist barely spared them a glance and Tom passed her, marching straight to the gold-plated door, not bothering to knock.

The room itself was spectacular, the entire back wall a panel of windows which looked out across Hyde park, it was dominated by a huge mahogany desk and several large, black leather chairs. The man who made his way around sed desk to greet them was in his mid fifties, wearing a sharp suit with slick silvery-blonde hair. He was classically attractive, ever at the age he was, with sharp nordic features and pale eyes. "Watson," Tom scowled, shaking John's hand.

"Sherlock," the lawyer quipped, revelling at Toms discomfort at the little joke they had once shared.

"Bo, this is my dad's friend and my lawyer, John Watson," said Tom, annoyed when Bo gave the man a warm smile, "Watson, this is," he paused but ploughed on, "my partner, Ambrose Lee." Bo beamed at that, and Tom enjoyed the way John's smile faltered as he gave Bo a once over with his eyes, "the artist?" he enquired.

"That's right," Bo was still glowing from Tom's statement. John nodded, firing Tom a glare. Oh that's right, did I mention my lover is Ambrose Lee, internationally acclaimed painter and general beautiful person? Tom's lips were a smug smile as he took one of the leather seats, Bo taking the one next to him, his fingers finding Tom's and intertwining them. John frowned but got down to business, getting back on his side of the desk. "So To-Mr. Mason," he started, "I glad I finally got you here, I can see you've been very busy," Tom glowered, Watson was the king of passive aggression. "But it is rather serious that I let you know that Seth Black is to be released from prison in two weeks time." Oh fuck.

"Seth?" Tom dropped Bo's hand, leaning forward in his chair and meeting Watson's stern gaze.

"Yes, Mr. Black will no longer be residing in the area and has no reason to contact you, but I wanted you to be warned."

"Well shit," Tom slumped back in his chair, finally addressing a concerned-looking Bo, "Seth came to The Circus when it first opened, he was a pretty regular customer, a little on the dodgy side I suppose," Watson scoffed, "turns out he was pretty big in the underworld, the police turned up one day say he'd been arrested, we have to give them any cash we'd received from Seth and his friends, turns out it was all counterfeit anyway. How come he got out so fast?" Tom turned back to Watson, who scoffed again,

"Corruption," was the only answer he gave.

"But he has no reason to look for you right?" Bo asked, looking more serious than Tom had ever seen him, "you weren't the one that turned him in?"

"No way, he actually really liked the troupe, was going to invest in the business and stuff. Nah," Tom shook his head, "I don't think he'd hurt any of us, I suppose he's on parole though?"

"Supposedly," Watson rolled his eyes, "look, if he talks to you, just let me know okay, he's supposed to be in Birmingham, if you spot him here in London, he's violated his parole." Tom nodded, getting his phone out his pocket,

"I should probably phone Tiffany, tell her to let the others know," both the other men agreed. Startled but not scared, Tom ducked out into the foyer, calling Tiffany and telling her the situation, like Tom, she wasn't too alarmed, they both knew Seth had never been violent towards anyone in The Circus.

A tension that definitely had not been present earlier filled the room Tom returned to. Bo was still in his chair but his hands had a white-knuckled grip on the arms, Watson wore a smug smile. Oh no. "Well," Tom's mouth was dry, "if that was all you needed, I think we should be off, Bo?" The man didn't say anything, just stood and left the room, Tom followed him silently, fearing what he knew was probably true. Fucking Watson. They entire journey home was silence, the tension almost smothering. It was only when Tom sat timidly on Bo's bed in his little apartment their gazes finally met. He's pissed. Like, really pissed. "Bo, I-," Tom started.

"He must be what, thirty years older than you?" Bo's voice was cold and snide. Fuck.

"It was years ago Bo, it wasn't li-,"

"What kind of sick fuck preys on a kid who's just lost his parents?" there was no coldness now, just loud, heated rage.

"I wasn't a kid Bo, I was nineteen. Besides, I-,"

"He was your dad's friend Tom, and fuck, I already know what kind of a man your father was!"

"Jesus Bo! It's not like he attacked me okay?"

"He said you were reluctant at first," Bo ground out through his teeth, "but you came around easy enough," he spat.

"Fucking hell Bo, what did he say to you?"

"That I'd be glad to know he paved the way for me!" Bo roared, "that it was amazing how responsive you were even though it was your first fucking time!"

Yikes.

"Shit, he's just being provocative Bo, yes we did it! I was messed up and grieving, that was it!"

"Did you even see the ring on his finger? The photos in his office?" At that Tom cringed, Watson was married with four kids, all around Tom's age. "Was he married when you let him fuck you?" Bo demanded.

"That's not fair Bo," Tom argued, "he came on to me! I didn't know what the fuck was going on!"

"You just said he didn't attack you Thomas!" Tom wasn't sure what he hated more, the fact that Bo was using his own words against or the fact that he was deliberately distancing himself by using Tom's full name. "He didn't attack me, Ambrose," it was immature but Tom continued, "Jesus! I wanted him to fuck me okay?" Silence rung out and they heard the sound of Mikey humming as he unlocked the studio door on the floor below. Bo growled, grabbing the remote for the ipod dock and turning on the music, partially to cover their argument, partially to signal to Mikey they were not to be disturbed. "He took advantage of you," Bo's voice was a shade calmer.

"Yes he did, and he's a dick for teasing you for it, but it was years ago. He only did it once," Bo looked calmer now, "not even when I asked for a repeat."

That was not a good thing to say.

It wasn't.

Bo went from naught to ten in seconds, Tom half expected him to walk out. The music was suddenly almost deafeningly loud, the opening bars of the Arctic Monkeys Do I wanna know? almost shaking the room. Bo may not have been a dancer but he inadvertently stalked towards Tom in time to the music, his eyes spilling over with anger and lust. There was no time to think before Bo had Tom flat on his back, kissing him with bruising force, his anger apparent. Tom kissed back, unsure of the meaning of Bo's actions, but enjoying their result all the same. Shit. Sex does not solve problems. The loud bass of the song vibrated through their bodies. Then, Tom was on his stomach, rough hands undoing his jeans and pulling them down, this was happening fast, even in their more fervent moments, they had never skipped foreplay like this before. "Hold up Bo," Tom panted, "Give me a sec-ugh," two slick flingers pushed inside him without warning, it wasn't painful, but he clenched around them in surprise. Bo didn't bother much with Tom's prostate, his fingers working at getting a hefty amount of lube around Tom's hole and nothing else. Tom's hips were in the air, his body slumped forward on the bed, his face buried in the sheets as he moaned. "Oh shit, Bo, just slow down a little," he groaned out, his protests weak even to his own ears. The loud music was covering most of the noise but Tom still desperately tried to quieten some of his moans. Suddenly, he was empty, Bo's long fingers out of his hole. He's going to continue right? There's no way I'm ready yet. Tom's inner monologue didn't have time to continue, Bo's cock, thick and hard was already pressing into Tom's hole. He screamed into the pillow, it hurt, it felt amazing, it hurt. Bo gave him no adjustment time, slamming his hips in hard, making Tom scream again.

He came.

Tom's cum coated the bed below him with an orgasm which seemed to shock them both. Bo paused momentarily, likely in surprise, but fucked Tom through his orgasm, which only made it more intense. "Ah god!" Tom's guttural moan was audible even over the music, "h-h-harder," he managed to pant out, Bo's hard thrusts pushing the air from his lungs. Tom stayed collapsed on the bed, his front a mess of cum, spit and tears. He desperately tried to twist around, this was the first time they'd had sex from behind, it was mind blowing and terrifying in equal measure. Knowing how angry Bo was, Tom hated the disconnect between them. "Bo," he wailed weakly, "I wanna see your face," he was crying now, largely due to the pleasure wracking his body, "it's scary not seeing your fa-oh fuck." The only answer he got was a growl and Bo's firm hand pinning his body to the bed. Tom knew Bo was lost then, his eyes hazy with lust, his hips hammering forward, only one goal in mind. "Please Bo," Tom tried one more time, earning himself a spank which made him shudder. Why is that so good? I must be defective or something. "More," he mewled.

"Fuck," Bo finally spoke, "you want more?"

"Please," Tom was barely audible over the music, "go deeper...inside...I want it...deeper," he shuddered out. Bo's hips doubled their speed, pounding away and he slapped Tom's bare cheeks in earnest, his other hand reaching for Tom's dripping cock. It took six hits for Tom to reach his second orgasm of the day, Bo fucking his limp body until he too came. It was the best and worst sex they had ever had together.

Chapter eighteen

It went without saying that Tom slipped out of Bo's apartment while the man slept. Mikey was nowhere to be seen and Tom was gratefully as his shaky legs took him down the stairs and out into the cool evening air. The weather was getting colder now, those longer summer evenings slowly disappearing. He walked back to his home ignoring the gross feeling of dried cum on his chest, lube trickling down his legs, feeling like a cheap whore. Well I guess that's irony for you. He trudged home, avoiding the troupes questions, merely mumbling something about a fight with Bo before grabbing enough sweets and chocolates out the kitchen to send any normal human into a diabetic coma and heading to his room. He sat crossed legged on his bed, shoving half a chocolate bar in his mouth and finally checked his phone. There were three missed calls from Bo and several messages.

Lee, Ambrose (Bo): I'm so sorry Tommy, I love you x

Lee, Ambrose (Bo): I hope we can talk soon x

Lee Ambrose (Bo): I get it if you don't want to talk right now x

The lack of emojis was a little disturbing. Initially, Tom's heart swelled with sympathy, imagining Bo's angelic face etched with pain. But he had done wrong, his overreaction to John had caused their argument and the unnerving sex which had followed. Tom's phone buzzed in his hand,

Lee, Ambrose (Bo): Please don't break up with me x

Shit. Tom sighed, he didn't want to break up with Bo, but he did want to punish him for what he had done. He tapped a reply,

You: I'm not breaking up with you. I just need some time, I love you too x

He nearly deleted that last line but didn't, sending the text anyway, one fight couldn't break them apart.

Lee, Ambrose (Bo): Thank you, I understand. Let me know when you're okay to talk, I'll be there. I'll miss you x

Tom wanted to crumple and phone him, declaring his undying love. Instead, he stuffed the rest of the chocolate bar in his mouth and moped around the house for the rest of the day.

Fortunately for Tom, he shared a house with four people who knew exactly how to cheer him up. This far into the show season, rehearsals took half the usual time, often just a quick run through of the show. With this in mind, Tiffany took it upon herself to cancel Tuesday's session, much to the troupe's delight. They spent the day watching all of Tom's favourite musicals. Tom was always a tiny bit proud that he didn't come off as overly gay or effeminate but that was probably the campest he'd been in a long time, singing along loudly to every song in his best stage school voice. Tiffany got so wrapped up in his rendition of Barbara Streisand's Don't Rain On My Parade she actually filmed it on her phone, sending it to anyone who would watch. They even found some old clips of themselves on Youtube, Tiffany pulling up various ones of a performance of Jesus Christ Superstar they had done back in university. Tom laughed at his eighteen year old self as Judas, everyone admitting he looked worryingly good in his seventies costume. The camera flicked towards an equally young Tiffany, dancing in an angel costume for the final number as Tom belted out what had been a fun but challenging solo. The camera then passed over Lena, older than the other two but still a little baby faced, they had barely known her back then. Finally the camera focused on the actor playing Jesus, Chris Peterly, Tom recalled, looking clean cut and dashing, he'd been the obvious choice for the role. It was ironic watching him play the part, Tom clearly remembering how Chris had drunkenly begged Tom to fuck him at the wrap party. He had, of course, the man was gorgeous.

By the end of the day Tom's mood had made a marked improvement, he didn't contact, nor hear from Bo, but felt okay about it, enjoying the friends he felt he had neglected of late. The rest of the week went equally smoothly, rehearsals were painless, the show running like clockwork. On Friday night the five of them and Caleb went to an open mic karaoke night at one of their favourite bars, another sure fire way of improving Tom's mood. Tom did his best Bohemian Rhapsody with Bertie and Lena chuckling through backing vocals, the crowd seemed happy to have a decent performance for the night. Caleb and Tiffany sung a bizarrely amazing cover of Abba's Does Your Mother Know, but with less innocence and way more impromptu dancing of the very dirty variety. They bought the house down, two crazily attractive people grinding and singing Abba? Who doesn't love that? Tom was relieved though, Tiffany had been cold with Caeb lately and whilst Tom knew why, he hated any discord between them. As all of Saturday was spent working in The Circus, it was Sunday before Tom realised he still hadn't contacted Bo. He made a mental note to call him on Monday, exactly a week after their fight.