The Circus

"It is actually Michael," Mike laughed, "You were right on the money with your guess though."

"Oh wow, and Galileo?" it wasn't like Tom to go asking for names, he himself being such an anonymity freak, but Mike didn't seem bothered and gave a deep belly laugh,

"Sorry to disappoint, his name's Carl," he replied, making his way up the grated metal stairs.

"Aw damn, here I was thinking I was a psychic or something," Tom laughed, glancing at Ambrose who was scowling, but gestured that Tom go upstairs too.

Upon reaching the top, Tom took in what turned out to be a huge second floor warehouse, it was bare and chilly even with the good weather, plastic sheeting covered most of the surfaces and whilst one side was lined with sculptures of all materials in different states of refinement, the other side held one large canvas sitting on a easel. "Wow," Tom's eyes scanned the various works before curiosity got the better of him and he approached the giant canvas. It occurred to Thomas that he should have asked Ambrose's permission before gawking at his work but as a small stream of sunlight filtered in through one of the dirty windows, Tom couldn't find words at all. Fuck. The base sketch itself was pretty much finished but only a small portion had been painted, suddenly the smell that clung to Ambrose placed itself in Tom's mind, paint. The sketch was of Thomas, curled on his side, eyes closed, bare to the waist then draped in flowing silk sheets, hair messy, lips parted, cheeks rosy. It was scarily realistic and alarmingly sexual even without nudity, every part of Tom's sketch form at ease in what was obviously post coital bliss. In reality, Tom had only been able to stare at the drawing for a few seconds before a white sheet was thrown over it, "Sorry, you weren't supposed to umm," Ambrose was flustered, pulling the sheet so it fully obscured the canvas, "that's err...private," he was rubbing the back of his neck now, "it's not finished yet...I...umm," Tom watched the young man's brows knit together, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Mike had disappeared at some point during Ambrose's panic and Tom took the opportunity to get to the real reason he had visited. "Hey," he tried to interrupt what had now become pacing with clenched fists, "Hey," he said a little louder, finally putting his hands on Ambrose's shoulders and forcing him to stop. "It's okay, seriously," he felt funny putting his slender hands on the shoulders of a man almost a head taller than himself but forced Ambrose to meet his eyes, "it's fine, it's actually really good," Tom flushed, "shit that sounds so arrogant, I meant-,"

"No," Ambrose's hand's were on Tom's waist now, when had they gotten so close? "I'm glad you like it. I got back here on Sunday and it just sort of drew itself," he gave a small smile, "I've never done a canvas like that in one day before but I just couldn't stop picturing you..." Oh my god. Remember why you're here. Remember why you're here. So useless was Tom's conscience, he didn't even try to listen to it when Ambrose's lips met his. He certainly wasn't listening when he pushed his tongue into the man's mouth and grasped at his shoulders, nails digging in through Ambrose's paint-covered shirt. He definitely was not listening when Ambrose pulled Tom's legs up around his waist, easily taking his weight before slamming them into the wall of the warehouse. That's right, Tom thought as he yanked his own t-shirt off, then Ambrose's crashing their bare skin together as quickly as possible, he's never as gentle as I think he's going to be, he pulled away, giving Ambrose access to his bare chest, knowing the torture the man would put him through, and I fucking love it.

After suffering through several agonizing minutes of Ambrose's mouth on his nipples, Tom finally unwrapped his legs from around the man's waist, dropping back to the floor and immediately crouching down. Fortunately Ambrose had been painting in some cheap tracksuit bottoms and one pull of the drawstring was all it took before they were practically falling off his hips. "Yes," came a soft whisper from above Tom, who allowed himself a moment to drink in the messy hair, flushed face and breathless man he had created. He shot Ambrose a tiny smirk of victory before pulling his trousers and boxers down together, yanking them off the man's bare feet. Thomas immediately regretted not seeing Ambrose naked on there first night together, those muscles, Tom couldn't picture the gym machine what gave you muscles like that. They were prominent but sleek, sliding under the skin like the shoulders of a big cat. His arms and legs were rather hairy but he clearly paid attention to his grooming, a brown trail on his belly the only hair present on his chest, leading down to neatly trimmed pubic hair. His cock, sweet Jesus his cock, was a thing of beauty in it's own right, decently above average size but in no way grotesque, he was uncircumcised and amazingly hard.

One of the very few areas Tom believed he had any skill in was blowjobs. It was something he enjoyed doing, largely because it meant nobody touching him, and he'd always had good results, especially since practically numbing his gag reflex a few years ago. He took Ambrose's cock in his hand, so hot, and felt it pulse with his heartbeat, precum pooling at it's tip. With little delicacy, Tom took the whole thing in one long stroke, Ambrose's amazing length still a little challenging even with Tom's experience, still he forced it down, his jaw stretching uncomfortably. His suffering was rewarded with the long, low groan Ambrose let out and the hands that slipped Tom's hair out of it's elastic so those long, rough fingers could make their way to his scalp. Tom pulled off the now glistening cock in front of him, only to drive back down, his nose hitting Ambrose's hard lower abdominals. The fingers at his scalp pulled at his hair intermittently and Tom was just about to start wondering how a man could be so different during sex when those fingers pulled his hair, causing Tom to moan and sending vibrations up Ambrose's cock. "Fuck," Ambrose whispered harshly, snapping his hips forward. Tom realised he'd never heard Ambrose swear like that before, the contrast of his rich, upper class voice saying that word caused pleasure to spread through Tom's body. Using his free hand, he unbuttoned his jeans, forcing them down and grabbing wildly for his own cock. He finally grasped it, moaning at the contact, he glanced up to find Ambrose watching him intently, eyes glazed with lust. Tom's body was on fire as he felt the man's eyes scanning his hooded eyes, his mouth stuffed with cock, saliva covering his lower face, strings of it dripping down onto the hand Tom feverently pumped his own cock with.

To say Tom could see the moment Ambrose's control snap would be an understatement, a lusty gaze turned into primal dominance and he yanked at Tom's hair again, this time weaving his fingers through the locks for the sole purpose of getting a good purchase before fucking Tom's throat like his life depended on it. He didn't even try to speak properly, just a slew of grunts, moans and curses as he thrust wildly into Tom's mouth, who really wanted to feel used and cheap, but instead moaned weakly around the cock in his mouth. Despite Ambrose's lengthy head start, Tom came first, like usual, rubbing himself to climax with such desperation it bordered on pain. His eyes clenched tightly shut, his body convulsing through the powerful orgasm, stars dancing behind his eyelids. When he was almost recovered Ambrose thrust hard down his throat with a strangled moan, his hot salty semen coating Tom's throat, he gulped it down, bringing the young man such empowering pleasure his own deflating cock let out a few more jets of cum, elongating his already overwhelming orgasm.

As he slowly came down from his pleasure induced high, Tom was aware of his pained knees on the concrete floor or the warehouse. He was also aware of the cum he had no so graciously painted the floor with, thank god there's plastic everywhere. He made to stand before two powerful arms pulled him up with ease and he was crushed against Ambrose's bare chest. "Goodness," the man whispered against Tom's ear, his usual angelic persona so quickly back in place, "You are full of surprises," he gave Tom no chance to respond, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Tom's body filled with heat like water from a tap. "Hey," Ambrose was whispered again once their kiss finally ended, "what's your name?"

Chapter seven

Reality crashed down on Thomas with such forced his knees buckled slightly in Ambrose's tight embrace. He doesn't even know your name. Tom cursed himself for getting wrapped up in extreme new world of pleasure Ambrose was showing him. He pushed the man away like he was diseased, struggling to keep his internal monologue, well, internal. "I-I," Tom licked at lips that could rival the Sahara desert, "I didn't come here for this," Ambrose's face fell so Tom looked pointedly at the floor, "I was supposed to be talking to you. Business talk," he cleared his throat. Ambrose sighed, quickly dressing again and pulling soiled plastic before opening a door in the far corner of the warehouse, "you'd better come in then."

God, you act like an over sensitive teenager and the man's still kind to you.

Following Ambrose, Tom found himself in a tiny studio apartment. It was minimalist in the extreme, the lounge/bedroom taken up by a large mattress on the floor covered in blankets and cushions, the kitchenette was practically empty save a small kettle and two well-used mugs and the dining room consisted of a fold out trestle table and two plastic chairs. Ambrose dumped the plastic in the bin, immediately going to the kettle and filling it before rinsing the two mugs and putting a tea bag in each, he does that alot, Tom noted. There was a drawn out silence while the kettle boiled, with Tom rearranging his clothes and hair and Ambrose doing a fantastic job of looking anywhere but at Tom. Finally, Ambrose put two cups of tea, a bottle of milk and what looked like a couple of straws of sugar he nabbed from a cafe. Tom wearily took the seat closest to the door, taking his cup or tea and adding a healthy amount of milk and one of the sugars before murmuring his thanks. He watched Ambrose add a small amount of milk to his tea, not touching the sugar and made a mental note. "Now," the man opposite Tom reclined, taking a long drink of his tea, "care to clue me in on what's going on?" he sounded a little snippy, but very civil considering what a shit show the morning had been. Tom nervously toyed with his hair before taking a sip of his drink, which was definitely still far too hot for his liking, after a pause, he sighed, no point trying to remain professional now, may as well just be honest. "I was supposed to come here today to apologise for my complete lack of umm initiative and competence on Saturday night. I will of course offer you a full refund unless you wish to make another booking with myself or another performer free of charge. I would also like to offer you a years free membership to The Circus as well as two free further bookings with anyone of you choosing," but hopefully me. It was actually the most eloquent and intelligent Tom had ever sounded in front of Ambrose, he had slipped into business mode without thinking. He eventually looked up from the tea to find Ambrose frozen in place, a wry smile slowly making it's way across his face. There was a single beat before he barked out a laugh, his shoulders sinking several inches as the tension left his body, his wonderful face lit up by his laughter. "Jesus mate," his accent was a little stronger now he was laughing, "you scared me half to death!" still chuckling slightly, he went and boiled the kettle again, more tea? Seriously? Tom looked down at his nearly full cup. "Lord, I thought you were going to say I was banned from The Circus or that you wanted me to destroy the painting or that you regretted what went on out there," he jerked his head towards the warehouse. He made his way over to when Tom sat dumbfounded, crouching in front of him, reaching forward to trace his thumb over Tom's two little beauty spots. "Saturday night was one of the best of my life," he slid his thumb down, running it over Tom's bottom lip, "I've never seen someone so utterly absorbed in the pleasure of sex before, it was really beautiful," his voice lowered to a whisper.

"Thomas," Tom had croaked out before he could stop himself.

"Huh?"

"My name's Thomas," the words were barely audible. Ambrose's answering smile was achingly heart warming, he seemed to acknowledge this was a big step for Tom, the blurring of lines between client and worker. "Thanks for telling me," he placed a chaste kiss on Tom's lips before making his second cup of tea. Thomas let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding and downed the rest of his tea, definitely burning his tongue in the process. "I want you to finish the painting," he cringed at his own melodic, emotional voice, "I like it."

"That's good," Ambrose returned with his tea, "I think it will look great when it's finished," he took a sip, frowned and then rolled his eyes at himself before grabbing the bottle of milk and pouring some. God he's adorable when he's not fucking my face. "But I think I should put your worries to rest," Ambrose was back in angel mode once more, "I don't want any kind of refund and while I would love a membership to the club, I have no intentions of booking in with any of your coworkers. You on the other hand..." he raised an eyebrow, letting the sentence hang between them. Tom flushed, looking at his hands folded in his lap, this man was already driving him crazy and they had bare progressed beyond a bit of oral, could he handle bottoming for him three times? "Agreed them?" his voice was thin with nerves.

"Hah, I wouldn't hold you to that Thomas," hearing his name on Ambrose's lips sent a shiver down Tom's spine, "I'll accept the membership, the show was amazing but I fully intend to seduce you myself, outside of The Circus," he winked, the man fucking winked, "but there is something you could do for me." Tom swallowed, I don't think I could handle giving him another blowjob right now. "The sketch of you I did was the quickest and best I've drawn in months, I was hoping you could model for me sometime? Decent models are hard to come by and we could forget all this talk of refunds if you'd spare me a few hours sometime this week?"

"That's it?" Just stand there while Ambrose draws me, shit that's a hundred times easier than letting him fuck me three times, "sure I guess. Am I really the guy for the job though? I've got some really attractive staff who would be happy to help out?" Ambrose pondered that for a moment, "I definitely need you first," the words 'need' and 'you' in the same sentence made Tom's heart flutter, "however, there's a good chance I may take you up on that offer."

It was late afternoon by them time Tom left Ambrose's home/workplace, he decided to walk all the way home, even though it took him over an hour. They had chatted animatedly for hours about Ambrose's new project, it was his third exhibition and was being fully commissioned by some art buff in America. The theme was seven deadly sins and Ambrose had spoken boldly how Tom was to represent 'lust' in his collection, his eyes filling with that very emotion as he spoke. After brainstorming other member's of the troupe, during which time Tom accidently said Tiffany's real name twice, the pair had realised they had plenty to work with and Ambrose would save weeks of model searching time. They agreed to text each other with any further ideas and Tom would return on Thursday following his rehearsals for their first session. Good work giving him your personal phone number, really keeping those professional boundaries in place. Even with his doubts, Tom bounced home, excited by the new project and knowing the promise of being paid for the modelling not only once by Tom, but then again by Ambrose, would have his staff readily agreeing to the plan. He tried not to focus on the fact that Ambrose's warm smiles had kept him feeling rather blissful for their entire afternoon, or the fact that he hadn't readily disagreed when Ambrose had said he planned to seduce Tom on a personal level. He's just a client, a gorgeous, sweet, sinfully sexy client who likes strong tea with a splash of milk.

When he finally got back to the house, Tom was buzzing with the same kind of excitement he got on opening night. Tiffany almost tackled him with a hug when he told her they wouldn't have to refund Mr. Lee, her relief so strong that she nodded enthusiastically when he told her his plans with Ambrose. He noted the flash of concern and confusion in her eyes when he spoke of Ambrose's talent, using the man's first name a few times without even thinking, and the plans for the exhibition. If Tiffany hadn't felt so guilty about spending Tom's paycheck so fast, she probably would have given him a lecture about seeing clients out of hours but also because truthfully, she was just so happy Tom was talking about this new man, rather than moping about his failed relationships. The rest of the gang agreed to partake in the exhibition, as a group of performers, he knew none of them would turn down the chance to have their face up in an art gallery for the world to see, plus, Ambrose had agreed not to put their names anywhere, much to everyone's relief. Even Bertie agreed, whilst not being a performer he seemed happy with the idea, Tom made a mental note to be present for that particular session, and maybe Caleb's too. That night, Tom gleefully texted the new number in his phone, letting Ambrose know the troupe were happy to help and that any modelling sessions could be organised through Tom himself. Making sure he has plenty of reasons to text you are we? He also added that he was looking forward to Thursday and forced himself to add a cringy 'x' after signing off the message. It's can't have been more than a minute later when Tom's phone buzzed, a lengthy reply full of thanks and emojis which ended with 'Thursday can't come soon enough' and two kisses. Groaning, Tom threw his phone across the bed, pulling the covers over his head and trying to ignore the thudding of his heart. You are so screwed.

The next two days dragged painfully slowly for Tom. On Tuesday Lena decided everyone needed to do more yoga and dragged them to a park, spending over an hour chastising Tom for the misalignment of his Chakras. The yoga itself was easy, with everyone except Bertie and Caleb, who arrived halfway through the session, pliant and flexible from years of dance training. They eventually packed up when a small crowd had started to gather, someone even snapping a photograph of Charlie's elegant one armed handstand. Once rehearsals started Tom's mind was whisked away by The Circus, his focus so intent on fixing the lighting for Caleb's fire routine and re choreographing part of the finale, it felt like moments before they were piling back into the house, collapsing on various soft furnishings. Wednesday was of a similar mould, except yoga was replaced by a much needed shopping trip which had Tom and Bertie pushing two trolley loads of food and Tom giving in and buying Bertie two bags of cat food and a litter tray for the stray he'd started feeding outside the house. Fortunately, rehearsals finished early, the previous day's work meaning everything was running much more smoothly and Tom was tucked up in bed much earlier than usual, his food baby sitting heavily in his stomach. He was almost asleep when his phone buzzed, signalling a new text from Ambrose. Tom swallowed, there had been no contact since Monday, not that he wasn't keen, just that he had no clue what to say to the man. Face to face, and when Tom wasn't acting like a complete virgin, conversation flowed nicely between them, reminding Tom that Ambrose was only a few years older than him. The phone however was a different story. Six times, Tom had opened up their text conversation and tried to type some nonchalant greeting, and six times, he brain had suddenly become devoid of all English language.