The Circus

"Not yet," Ambrose's voice growled from somewhere around Tom's belly, causing his hard cock to jerk wildly. The pair watched as a large string of precum oozed from the top of Tom's cock before settling on his lower belly, Tom's face burned with shame which quickly dissipated when Ambrose bobbed down and lapped it up. "Sh-shit," Tom's body twitched and once more he grabbed for Ambrose's hair, "You can't," he whined a the mop of curls near his crotch. This is why you don't do this remember? Thoughts flitted through the tiny gaps in Tom's head that weren't full of Ambrose's tongue as it brushed the small silver barbell in Tom's belly button, you've got no stamina, it's fucking embarrassing, no one pays thousands of pounds for a hairtrigger who can't even take the lead. "This is hot," Ambrose's voice pulled Tom from his cynical thoughts as he played with the barbell again.

"Thanks," Tom was breathless, god this was embarrassing.

"You're just..." Ambrose trailed off, pressing his thumbs lightly into Tom's hipbones and watching the smaller man tremble, he gave a low, wicked chuckle when a fresh stream of precum left Tom's cock. Tom swallowed, his loud breathing filling the room, he hasn't even touched you! Jesus how could I have thought this man was naive? Ambrose met his gaze, wearing what could only be described as a sinful smirk before diving down and taking Tom's entire length in his mouth. Tom didn't know if he'd closed his eyes or whether his brain had momentarily shut down from the pleasure but the feel of his cock sliding down Ambrose's throat was so vividly pleasurable he almost screamed. "Oh god!" he shrieked instead, grabbing wildly at the sheets below him, "Wait Ambrose! You can't!" Tom's body almost crumpled in on itself, pleasure gnawing at his belly. Ambrose moved up and down his cock with ease, his tongue teasing in all the right places, his throat squeezing rhythmically and all the while looking deeply into Tom's eyes with oppressive lust. "I'm gonna come," Tom shouted frantically, clawing at Ambrose's strong shoulders, "I need to! Ambrose I have to!" he was almost panicked now, his body wound so tightly he thought he might snap.

As quickly as he had started, Ambrose released his cock.

"No!" Tom sobbed, too far gone to be embarrassed about the tears in his eyes. He lay on the bed, hair messily fanned out on the pillow, his bottom lip now bleeding a little he had chewed it so roughly in his frustration, his body, damp with sweat and saliva was burning hot, his chest heaving whilst tears of anger slipped from his eyes. "Do you have any idea what you look like?" Ambrose sighed, shaking his head and pressing his lips to the corners of Tom's teary eyes.

"Y-you," Tom whimpered, "you changed, you were all sweet and now," his fogged eyes registered Ambrose's smirking face, the obscene tent in his trousers, his fingers lazily stroking Tom's balls., "you're a devil," he finally finished. Ambrose laughed at that, but made no moves to apologise, instead leaning over to the dresser and picking up a bottle of lube. Tom wanted to be nervous about the coming events but his mind and body were still both screaming at him that cumming was far more important that whatever else his guest had planned that night. "I work very hard to be good when I'm in company," said Ambrose, his now-slick fingers making their way to their prize, "so letting go once in awhile is good," he pressed in a finger, "don't you think?" he added another. Tom wanted to make a comment about people being smug bastards but his entire mentally capacity seemed to be focused on Ambrose's fingers and the wonderful things they were doing to his body. Two of those long, rough fingers were scissoring Tom's hole, the same thing he had done to himself in the shower but instead of the strange fullness and discomfort Tom normally felt, Ambrose was doing something that sent electric shocks straight to Tom's cock. "You like it there?" a voice near his cock purred, hot breath hitting his sensitive sex.

Of course I do you dick!

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" was what came out of Tom's mouth instead. A third finger was suddenly added and there was a slight burn now, adding to the rest of this fire which threatened to consume Tom's entire body. Ambrose was doing that thing more now, pressing something repeatedly that cleared Tom's brain of every thought that didn't include cumming in the next ten seconds. If this was the preparation, the main event would kill him. His flailed wildly on the bed, thrashing his head side to side, the ringing in his ears almost drowning out the sound of his own shameless screams of pleasure. Ambrose's finger sped up in response, pumping in and out of his channel with vigour. "Please," the word was a guttural cry from Tom's throat, his was vaguely aware of his hoarse voice, tears of pleasure streaming down his cheeks, his abdominals clenching and shuddering at the onslaught. Opening his eyes was the final straw, the sight that greeted him tipped him over the edge. The adonis that was Ambrose Lee thrusting his long beautiful fingers into Tom while his other hand gripped his own glistening hard cock, both hands moving in tandem to bring them both to orgasm was the most erotic thing Tom had ever seen. A split second was all it took before Tom's body seized in the most powerful orgasm he'd ever experienced. Normally quite a vocal lover, he was aware he was silent save a few pitiful whimpers as his untouched cock erupted over his stomach. It seemed to go on forever and somewhere outside the blackness behind his closed eyes there was a roar from Ambrose before Tom felt more cum settle on his stomach, mixing with his own. "Damn, I should have kept my eyes open to see him cum," as he brain slowly began to comprehend that he had said these words out loud, the kind of deep dreamless, unconsciousness that only cumming that hard could provide swept over Tom.

Chapter five

There was an entire plethora of reasons as to why Thomas was royally pissed off when he woke up looking up at the canopy of Room one on Sunday morning. The most pressing however, was the distinct piece of knowledge that he had not only not had sex with Ambrose Lee last night, but he had also let the man cum by his own hand before making a spectacle of himself and passing out. He shot out of bed, his wobbly legs reminding him of the previous night's activities causing him to stumble and stub his toe on the dresser. A string of curses left his mouth as he made his way to the ensuite, relieving himself before taking the quickest shower of his life. Pulling open the bottom draw of the dresser he found the menagerie of clothes in various sizes, left for precisely these situations. What situations? The ones where you are the world's worst escort? Grinding his teeth, Tom pulled on some soft black drawstring trousers and a black t-shirt. He raked through his damp hair before giving up and fetching a hair tie from the bathroom, it felt good to scoop the sodden locks off his overheated neck. He pulled on the only shoes he could find - his Ringmaster's boots - and stomped out the room, unceremoniously slamming the door behind him and scaring the shit out of the cleaning lady.

I'll have to refund him of course, Tom prayed Tiffany hadn't already spent any of Ambrose's payment, she liked to pay the rent months in advance as they were both always nervous the would lose their lease. Then what? Compensation? We could possibly afford it, Tom shook his head, he'd been promising the staff a pay rise for months. They were paid handsomely indeed but the odd hours, unavoidable groping and general stench of sex, not to mention being associated with what was generously referred to as a 'gentleman's club' warranted more that just great penalty rates. The Circus was a peculiar place and when Tom found staff who easily merged into their little ecosystem he liked to keep them. Maybe I could just send Caleb round to him? Or Bertie? It wouldn't have been the first time he'd offered guests an alternative to himself. But then...they'd be with him and he'd be doing those things he did to you to somebody else. For some reason that thought gave Thomas a rush of anxiety. This is exactly why you're single, clingy, overly sensitive, need I go on? With all that whimpering a crying you did last night, no wonder he ran for the hills. Tom hastily gulped down the negative thoughts which plagued him, he had long been insecure about his traitorously responsive body and it had affected every -well, both - of his previous relationships. Topping was safer, even if he got little pleasure from it, luckily Leicester usually liked it from behind, meaning he couldn't touch Tom's hypersensitive body. I'll have to meet him, his thoughts finally organised themselves, I'll have to find him and apologise and give him the refund. Fuck, I'll have to actually introduce myself and shit. He was just leaving the house when the cleaning lady flew down the stairs, her face flushed, "Oh pet that goodness you're still here," her Northern accent was broad and Tom wished he could remember her name, "Young man name of Lee left this for you flower," she pressed a note into his hands before giving his shoulder a squeeze and heading back upstairs. No wonder I hired her, Tom thought, unfolding the note, she's a delight. The note contained what he could only assume was Ambrose's swirl of extravagant cursive writing, it was slightly smudged but skillful and pretty all the same. It wasn't addressed to Tom, reminded him the man didn't even know his name but went on to say Ambrose had enjoyed the wonderful night they had spent together -really? - and hoped they would see each other again soon. He asked to be forgiven for having to leave as he had some work to attend to, who asks for forgiveness these days? At the bottom of the note was a hastily scrawled address, clearly an afterthought but still in his beautiful handwriting. You can find me here most of the time, yours, Ambrose, the letter finished. Damn, that meant Tom really did have to go and see him, he'd obviously left his address knowing Tom would have to find him to organise transferring the money back.

Slipping the note in his pocket, Tom left The Circus, making the minute long journey to it's neighbouring house and slipping through the front door, grateful Lena had a terrible habit of leaving it unlocked. The clock in the hallway told him it was nearing half past twelve but he caught the smell of toast as he pulled off his boots and padded towards the kitchen. Sundays were rather routine for the gang, usually an excessively long lie in followed by whoever was motivated making a late brunch before an entire day of slobbing, eating and generally moving very little. The Circus only performed once a week but Sunday was the troupes only real day of. On Mondays he and Tiffany would try and get the business side of things done for the week, booking in meetings and sorting accounts, Tuesdays through Thursdays were usually rehearsals, perfecting or altering the show based on the audience's reception and Fridays were usually interviews with people who had applied to become new members, a long and very discreet process which had to be done in person. Though Saturdays were slow to start, they all knew they'd be up into the wee hours and as such, Sunday's had become the most joyous day of the week.

"Well look who we have here," Tiffany said slyly, buttering a large stack of toast, "didn't hear you come in last night," Tom blushed, he'd never slept at The Circus before, far preferring his real bedroom.

"Fuck off," Tom groaned, snagging a bit of toast of the pile and falling dramatically into one of the dining chairs.

"I heard it was a newbie," Lena's Australian accent was muffled by the sizzling of whatever she was cooking in the pan, her bangle-laden wrist jangling and she added another pile of what looked like the vegan bacon she made them all eat. Tom shot her a glare and she broke into a wide smile, "Ooh someone had a good time, never seen you pout like that before," she left her charge to press a kiss to the top of his head, "glad you enjoyed it sweets, you deserve it."

"Oh stop please," Tom grumbled but gave his pseudo mother a little smile, "It's no good anyway," he fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth.

"What's no good?" Charlie entered the room, not even bothering to glance around before snuggling up to his wife and grabbing her arse.

"Oi!" Lena swatted him with her spatula, "Tom's meet and greet last night apparently," Charlie nodded vacantly, he and Lena didn't do meet and greets for obvious reasons and while Lena didn't judge, Charlie struggled to hide his lack of interest. He grabbed a piece of pretend bacon from Lena's pan and flopped down opposite Tom, who couldn't help but feel intimidated. Charles Okorie was an intense man, standing close to two metres. Charlie had always been big, but with his new interest in acrobatics and muscle work, he had bulked up of late, gaining half his body weight again. If Idris Elba and Idris Elba's slightly more hawaiian looking twin had a baby, that was Charlie, complete with cockney accent. His father was a proud man from Ghana and Tom had once met his mother, a round but very pretty woman from Honolulu. With the latest addition of a long black beard, Charlie looked more like someone from Game of Thrones than a professional ballroom dancer. He was far from Tom's type, but I wouldn't say no, from the odd nights he got home early from work Lena's screams were enough to know that Charlie was doing very well in that department. Ambrose was also doing very well in that department. Shit. "Shit," Tom muttered, aware of the three pairs of eyes watching him. "I have to go see him," he finally said softly, "I have to apologise."

"Why?" is what Tom assumed Tiffany has asked around her mouthful of toast, she looked worried, Tom wasn't usually quite so docile.

"We didn't even do it," he flushed, he was more than comfortable talking about sex, he was not comfortable talking about his many failings, "He didn't um...you know..." Charlie shifted in his seat and Lena's eyebrows disappeared into her dreadlocks. There was a moment of silence while Tiffany started chopping mushrooms, this was certainly not a problem The Circus had faced before, they were all, Tom obviously excluded, a very highly sexed group and even interactions with the wackiest of clients had gone well. "Oh," was the little noise that Tiffany made after a while, "could you not just," she bit her lip, "make it up to him? Shit hun, I've already used the cash to pay for the new lighting system." Tom's shoulders slumped, ever efficient Tiffany, but they had been looking for a way to pay off the renovations they had completed a few months previous. "Can't offer him a refund then I guess," he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"We have the emergency fund but if we can avoid it I'd rather we didn't touch it," Tiffany added, grabbing a broom and jabbing the ceiling a few times, a signal to Bertie in the room above that brunch was almost ready. Tiffany's right, you have the tools to make up for it, just use them. Tom sat straight, resolved, "I'm sure I can work it out, I don't want to use the emergency fund if at all possible," that money was set aside for natural disasters and apocalypses.

With Thomas vowing to find Ambrose on Monday and offer up whatever he could to smooth things over, he felt a little less shaken by the time a bleary eye Bertie made his way downstairs still looking thoroughly fucked from the night before. "Can you do the eggs Bertie?" Lena was microwaving some mini pastries she had found in the freezer, "I can't make them like you," she ruffled his bed hair. Tom tried not to be shocked and slightly turned on as Bertie moved around the kitchen, whipping up his rich, artery-blocking scrambled eggs. His pyjama top was a tiny scrap of sleeveless black fabric that only reached his midriff, openly displaying the bevy of hickeys, rope marks and handprints that adorned his pale skin. It would have been alarming except Tom knew how highly vetted his members were and that Bertie had been regularly attending some sort of martial arts class for years now, he also knew that Bertie would have been the one begging for it, his cock twitched. No going after nymphomaniac employees. Tom was suddenly aware that his own body was likely adorned with similar evidence of his evening's activities, his heart thudded as he recounted Ambrose's low voice in his ear. Great, now you're going to be hard for all of brunch. The five of them finally got around to eating their brunch, with Tom downing no less than four of the small pastries. Tiffany quizzed a little more about Ambrose and the group cringed together when Tom told them about the man jerking himself off to orgasm. I didn't even touch his dick, we were together for nearly two hours and I didn't touch the man's cock! He didn't mention the enjoyable talk they'd had or that Ambrose had told him his real name, it felt too intimate for some reason, to share the tiny bits of information he had gathered on the man. He was a tiny bit worried that the name Ambrose Lee rang a bell somewhere in the back of his mind but figured he would just have to Google him later. The rest of the day went like most Sunday's, Lena and Charlie went out on a date, Bertie was a permanent fixture in front of the television and Tiffany's laptop only left sed lap when she left her armchair of choice to fetch more snacks for the three of them. Tom joined them of course, lying on the sofa, his head in Bertie's lap, loving the way the man's nimble fingers made dozens of tiny plaits in his hair as they watched whatever show Bertie was binging on now. Tom fell asleep twice, leaving the sofa only to pay the pizza delivery man before finally ended up in his bed at the very reasonable hour of eleven pm. He wasn't exactly tired from the day's complete lack of activity but thought he should at least try and wake up early to go and visit Ambrose. He's left the man in limbo for an entire day, hoping Ambrose would be busy with whatever work he mentioned in his note.

Chapter six

A black button up shirt joined four of it's friends in the ever growing pile of clothes on Thomas' floor. He'd managed not only to wake up before nine, but had also to get out of all of his meetings for the day even fitting it a quick phone call with his accountant while downing one of Lena's strangely delicious green smoothies. The weather was warming up as much as British weather could which fortunately meant Tom could rely on his trusty black, fitted jeans but also meant displaying a bit of upper body flesh so as not to melt on the way to Ambrose's workplace. He was currently wrestling with a boring round neck duck egg blue t-shirt, it was the only one that covered the variety of hickeys and bites decorating his neck while simultaneously making sure he didn't melt into a puddle during his half hour long journey to South Bank. The shirt was a gift from Lena, meaning it not only fit like a glove, but was made of some wonderfully breathable organic bamboo. His hair was swept into a side ponytail, letting his neck breath and he'd pulled on his canvas plimsolls, glad to have his feet free of his leather Ringmaster's boots. As he was leaving, he grabbed his sunglasses and headphones, getting to South Bank meant getting the tube and pushing through waves of tourists so Tom did everything he could to look like someone who didn't want to give directions to any lost backpackers.

His nerves gradually increased as he travelled, making him take a wrong turn and missing his transfer at Piccadilly. Fortunately, the weather had turned out to be rather lovely and he enjoyed his stroll, plugging Ambrose's address back into his phone once he knew he was in the right area. Managing his growing anxiety, Tom focused on the music blaring through his headphones, it was the playlist for the new show and he mentally rehearsed the choreography as he listened. It was only when he nearly crossed on a green light, thus being abused by a local bus driver, that he yanked his earphones out, the sounds of London rushing to his ears. Shit, his eyes followed the bus as it passed, a large advertisement plastered on the side, a beautiful sketch of a mother gazing into the eyes of the baby she was holding and the words, 'Visit London's debut exhibition of internationally renowned artist Ambrose Lee.' Double shit. Thomas marched forward on his route wanting both to crawl back into his bed and pretend the last forty eight hours never happened and to purchase a loud speaker so he could yell from the rooftops he'd gotten a world class blowjob from a world class artist. Deciding neither of those options were good ones, he opted to walk the final few metres to a slightly suspicious looking warehouse set back from the busy streets. Maybe this is where he kills me. Taking a deep breath and straightening out his now slightly sweaty shirt, Tom knocked on the door, the fire-engine red paint cracking and falling off where his knuckles rapped on the wood. If you've got money for shows and sex, you must have money to move house surely. The tall, dark and handsome man who answered the door was not the one Tom was expecting, but made him grin nonetheless. "Hah, Michelangelo, you live here?" The suave Italian man in the doorway gave Tom a grin and gave him a quick hug. Michelangelo and his husband Galileo came to the club every time a new show was on, the never paid for the extras of course and it was obvious they were smitten with one another. The first time they had come, Tom had bonded with them as it turned out they were from Florence, same as Tom's mother, they'd even let him try out his terrible smattering of Italian with good grace. As he got to know the pair he'd learnt that Michelangelo was some hot shot sculptor and Galileo held some amazing position at one of the local universities, their alias' had been set in stone from then. Looking now, it seemed obvious, newbies could only attend with a member and Ambrose and Michelangelo were clearly in the same business. "Live here? Haha, work here more like," Mike gestured to his stained overalls and clay covered hands, Tom was always a little disappointed the man didn't have an Italian accent, for months he and Tiffany had been convinced the couple were part of the mafia. "That's awesome," Tom said genuinely, always a fan of any artistic talent, "I'm uh, here to see Mr. Lee, is he here?" Mike didn't even look fazed and Tom worried about how much he knew about the situation. The clay-covered man stepped back from the door smiling and tipped his head towards the industrial looking set of stairs behind him, "He's up there," he leaned in, shutting the door behind Tom, "want to see something great?" his eyes glinted with mischief and Tom couldn't help but smile and nod. "Hey! Someone here to see you Rosie my dear!" Mike yelled up the stairs with as much fake Italian flourish as he could muster, causing Tom to snort loudly before trying to silence his laughter. They heard the scraping of a chair followed by heavy footsteps before, "You're a prick Mikey!" made its way down the stairs in response. Tom dissolved into laughter, Ambrose sounded like a pissy prepubescent schoolboy who'd just been told Mummy and Daddy couldn't afford another pony. At the sound of Tom's laugh, those heavy footfalls were suddenly making their way down the stairs and by the time Tom had recovered, he was face to face with the man he'd used for a sneaky wank the night before. He's got no right to go around looking like that, there should be an announcement or something that warns you you're about to come face to face with someone that attractive. "You came," Ambrose said softly, his face breaking into that smile so bright Tom was nearly tempted to put his sunglasses back on, "I'm so happy you made it," if you looked closely enough, you could probably see the halo shining over the man's head. Tom blushed at that and stared at his feet, trying to ignore the enormous grin on Mike's face. Not able to deal with the glowing wonder that was Ambrose, he turned to the good looking, but considerably less glowy, Italian. "How come he called you Mikey? Don't tell me it's caught on?" he broke into the easy smile he couldn't seem to muster for Ambrose.