The Circus

Lee, Ambrose: Hey, hope you had a good day x

Oh, is that it? Two days of strife and I could have just sent some generic greeting like that? His fingers raced across the keyboard to reply, fully aware that he should probably slow down in an attempt to look a little less desperate.

You: Hey, how are you? My day was good, legs are killing me from rehearsals though. Hope your day was good? How's plans for the exhibition going? Hope Mike's well x

He very nearly typed 'I miss you,' but quickly deleted it and hit send. Reading over his words, it was an awful text, too many questions and no real information. Why did I talk about Mike? I barely know the man. Of course he had typed everything apart from what he really wanted to say, I miss you, I want to see you, I'm literally wishing the minutes away so I can see you again. When his phone suddenly buzzed again, Tom nearly jumped out of his skin he had been daydreaming so badly.

Lee, Ambrose: I'm great! (smiley face) The day was good, exhibition is going well, got a few bits for costumes and the like (big smiley face) also ordered a bunch of new paints (thumbs up) Mike's fine, caught him and Carl doing the dirty in the studio the other day though (face poking it's tongue out) lucky they didn't catch us first (blushing face) sounds like you need a long, hot bath for those legs (winking face) xx

Jesus, I thought I was cringy. He really needs to curtail all those emojis. Even as he thought this, Tom was well aware of the huge grin plastered on his face as he reread Ambrose's message, the first half fun of childlike joy, the second half descending into not-so-subtle flirtation.

You: Yeah, think I'm going to have a nice, long, hot bath...I might think of you whilst I'm in there xx

Before he could even blush about his forwardness, Tom hit the send button on his phone before genuinely getting out of bed and heading to his ensuite. Over the sound of the hot tap pumping water into what was quickly becoming a lavender scented bubble bath, he hear his phone buzz again.

Lee, Ambrose: Haha (laughing face) you're a saucy little thing aren't you? (winking face) Don't worry, I've been thinking about you long and hard every night this week xx

Oh wow. It wasn't the sexiest text known to man but it was enough to have Tom plunging himself into the scalding bath and making himself cum almost instantly, which was quick even for his premature self. He stayed in the bath a long while, letting the sore muscles in his legs gradually unwind. He was about to get out when he subconsciously found his hand trailing around his own inner thigh, it seemed his body had a mind of it's own when Tom's thoughts were on Ambrose. He hesitantly trailed his fingers up, letting his legs splay open in the huge bath, the very tip of his fingernail brushing his tiny opening. What are you doing? You never do this. Tom really wasn't sure why he was doing this, he prepped himself before, many times, and never enjoyed it. But he made it feel so good, even better than with the others, Tom reminded himself. Ambrose had made him cum using just his arse, that had to stand for something. He dipped his finger into his opening, the lack of lube making him clench a little, he felt around for a few moments before realising what a stupid idea the whole thing had been. I must be the only man in the world who can't find he own fucking prostate, he thought bitterly. He found Leicester's many times, pounding away at it whilst the toff had screamed under him, heck, he'd even found Bertie's once, one drunken night a couple of years back. He was just about to give up when his foot slipped on the side of the bath, causing his finger to slide in all the way to the knuckle. "Fuck," he squeaked, far too loudly. Found it. He pressed that spot inside him, once, twice, his vision blurring with the pleasure it bought. Even after knowing he was a bottom through at through, Tom had never bought himself to finger himself when he masturbated, he had dainty hands which couldn't reach those places and being sensitive as he was, the sessions themselves usually didn't last long enough to warrant the extra effort. But now, having not long cum before, he was able to exercise more restraint as he tapped his prostate again, stifling the moans that were escaping his lips. Ignoring the burn, he added a second finger, pummeling away at his own arse and messily pulling at his cock with the other. He couldn't get his fingers deep enough to fully hit the little button, but even just catching it every few thrusts was enough to have Tom cumming for the second time in his bath. "Oh god," he whimpered as his stretched channel spasmed with his orgasm. Tomorrow couldn't come quick enough.

Chapter eight

"Well someone's keen," Caleb leered as they showered after their dress rehearsal. A dress rehearsal Tom had cut over an hour short in his excitement for the evening ahead. Not that anybody had cared, the staff still revelling in the email they had received from Tom and Tiffany that morning giving almost a ten percent salary increase. It was already past three and Tom knew Ambrose would want a bit of natural light for the sketch, even with the current long summer evenings, he wanted to try and beat rush hour on the trains. "I just want to be prompt is all," Tom replied tersely, slightly unnerved that his entire troupe had been teasing him about Ambrose. Except Tiffany that was, she was just worried more that anything and Tom knew exactly why. He hadn't exactly differed from his usual relationship routine, already absorbed in thinking about Ambrose when he'd known the man less than a week. With Tom's history it wasn't very compelling evidence that he'd changed his ways. This is what you do, you meet them, become infatuated with them, obsess over them, creep them out, sleep with them - which creeps them out more - and then they dump you. Ta-da! Thomas Mason, clingy boyfriend extraordinaire! He tried to ignore Tiffany's little looks of concern but wanted to tell her she had nothing to worry about. I run a sex show for god's sake, it's not like he's actually going to want a relationship with me. I sell myself for money, I'm just a-

Tom moved back under the spray of the shower, he'd never been able to say that word. He wasn't ashamed of what he did, never had been, and he certainly wasn't ashamed of The Circus, quite the opposite in fact. Most days he revelled in his lifestyle, watching as society pretended it wasn't as sordid as he knew it was. He felt blessed he had created somewhere people could give in to those urges without judgement, but he had never really put a label on it, he didn't want to. A pair of muscular hands were suddenly on his shoulders, pressing away the tension in his traps and causing a long groan to leave Tom's mouth. "Fuck you're tense," a still very naked Caleb said from behind him, his thumbs pressing some magical place, "you need to chill dude," those thumbs made there way lower. "I could help you with that," Caleb's voice was in Tom's ear and he felt a very hard and very large cock press against his arse. Thomas prided himself that he never given in to Caleb's advances, even if he's slipped up once with Bertie in the past, Tom had always managed to resist Caleb for Tiffany's sake. It was beyond challenging, whilst not classically attractive like Ambrose, The Circus' very own pyromaniac held his own, deeply erotic appeal. His messy hair was dyed a very dark red, his olive skin a canvas for the many tattoos which snaked around his body, the most intense of which was the huge depiction of a female Efreet, flames licking at her near-naked body, long whips of hair barely covering her modesty, on his back. What wasn't tattooed on Caleb's body was often pierced, but not overly so, his seductive face contained a lip ring, a tiny gold pin in his nose and a tongue piercing, with both ears heavily decorated with jewellery. Now, with his back pressed against the man, Tom would feel both Caleb's nipple piercings as well as a naval piercing that matching his own and - cough - Caleb's Prince Albert running over his arse. "That's lovely of you Caleb," Tom wheezed, mustering all his strength to pull away, "but I've got an appointment already," he turned and flashed Caleb a smile, they before ignored their erections. Just like always, Caleb's cheeky grin turned into a laugh and he ruffled Tom's wet hair, "One day Mason," he called back and he went back to his own shower.

Caleb's little invitation had set the cogs of desire turning in Tom's mind and by the time he was knocking on the door to Ambrose's studio, he had to consciously force himself to calm down. The man's sketching you idiot, get your mind out the gutter. He just finished mentally berating himself when Ambrose answered the door, clearly freshly showered, wearing blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt, running his damp curls over with a towel. Tom's heart thumped in his ears, dear lord, will it always be like this when I see him? Tom blushed, realising they were dressed almost identically and nervously ran a hand through the hair which he had spent far too much time styling until it sat in smooth waves. "Thomas," Ambrose gave him a prized smile, "come in, that was good timing, I just got everything set up," he rambled, letting Tom in and closing the door behind them. Surprisingly, Ambrose pulled him in for a hug, it wasn't sexual in any respect and after a moment of surprise, Tom hugged the man back in earnest. He was breathing in Ambrose's warm scent of what must have been ginger body wash when he felt the other many doing the same, Tom almost laughed, since his lengthy bath the night before, several people had commented on the strong lavender scent that now seemed to follow him. "I missed you," Ambrose murmured into Tom's hair, taking him by surprise. Thomas pulled the man tighter against him, saying nothing but digging his hands into where they held onto Ambrose's broad back and nuzzling into his chest. After what must have been several minutes, Ambrose finally released him, a startlingly soft look on his face "let's go up," he interlaced their fingers and pulled Tom up the metal stairs towards the studio. Tom flushed, his eyes on his feet as they made their way up the stairs, it was the sweetest Ambrose had been towards him since he had offered him those chocolates what felt like weeks ago. Just as the thought occurred to Tom, Ambrose said, "Mike's already gone home for the day, so it's just the two of us." Tom nodded, then realising Ambrose couldn't see him replied with a soft,

"Oh, I see." They reached the top of the stairs and the warehouse was even more of a mess than last time, Mike's side seemed to have been involved in some kind of explosion, clay, wood, foam, you name it, was strewn across the room. "Yeah Mike's a had a bit of a creative block this week," chimed Ambrose, raising a brow at the wreckage. Ambrose's side was only a little better, aside for one space which had obviously been cleared for their session, boxes of paints, pencils and other equipment had all been opened, their contents haphazardly dotted around the room, a long table was lined against one wall, covered in clothing, accessories and costumes. Tom noted the dirty windows had been cleaning, but were now covered in writing, like people did in films, brainstorms and lists which fortunately, did not obscure the small amount of sunlight streaming in. Noting Tom's look of distaste Ambrose gave one of his languid chuckles, "it's always like this I'm afraid," he said as he way his way over to the door which led to his lodgings, "better warn the others," he called back jovially. Tom heard the kettle boiling and Ambrose reappeared and went over to the long table, picking through the various costumes. "I think you're addicted," Tom said incredulously, "to tea," he added at Ambrose's confused expression.

"You can always enjoy a good cuppa tea," Ambrose replied, fully exaggerating his Irish accent.

"How many cups have you had today?" Tom teased, joining Ambrose at the table and leaning back on his hands, "Eighty? Nighty maybe?" Ambrose laughed loudly at that, his hands finding Tom's waist before giving him a quick peck that had Tom blushing,

"I'm the son of an Irishman Tommy," he peppered more kisses on Tom's face, "there's never too much tea," as if on cue, the kettle announced it was boiled and Ambrose left to make another brew. Shit, he called me Tommy, nobody has ever called me that. He's got his own name for me. The thought sent a thrill though Tom, he loved the way Ambrose's slight accent caught the vowels, giving the word a singsong quality. Everyone called him Tom or Thomas, save his lawyer who refused to call him anything other than Mr. Mason. He just kissed me like it was nothing, like it was the most natural thing in the world. By the time Ambrose returned with two mugs, Tom was already thinking up his own nickname for Ambrose, the full thing was just far to upstanding and regal and Mike's Rosie was clearly a joke between the two of them. Ambrose took a long drink of his tea before making a little pile of clothes and handing it to Tom, "I can't guarantee the fit I'm afraid, I'd originally planned a woman for 'lust' so we may have to adjust it later," he frowned.

"Ah, okay," said Tom, taking the little pile of black clothes, "you want me to wear them now? Don't you just need like an outline today? I thought details were supposed to come last?"

"You certainly know a bit about art," Ambrose smirked, Tom didn't mention he'd spent almost three years at an art collage surrounded by the stuff, "you're right of course, I am supposed to start with a more general approach. Alas, I am a rebel with no formal training and as such, I kind of just do the whole thing at once," he sounded a little embarrassed at that. He draws like that and he's not even trained? This man is some kind of art prodigy, no wonder the gallery loves him. "Wow, that's pretty amazing," Tom didn't bother being coy, it was pretty amazing, the man could probably draw a perfect circle. He gave the still-shy Ambrose and little nod before taking his pile of clothes to the apartment and closing the door.

The collection of items Tom laid out on the dining table would have looked more at home in a sex shop. There was a pair of thick, shiny women's tights, long black silk gloves, some kind of crop top and a sleek black collar. Fortunately, Thomas was a man used to showing off his assets. By the time he managed to pull on the oil slick tights, he realised his boxers were too visible through the fabric, which meant pulling them all the way off, removing sed boxers before struggling all over again. His lack of coverage and the fact that they were women's tights mean his cock stood out rather obscenely, not my problem. He tried to make sense of the tiny top but it had some kind of inbuilt cup support so he ditched it and remained topless, the collar was a little fiddly but he eventually got it secure before finally pulling on the gloves which fit his fine hands, reaching up past his elbows. Finally looking in the mirror he was not appalled by his appearance, Tom had gone into business mode, the headspace he usually fell into when it came to arts and performance. The creature staring back at him was some kind of dark succubus, it's snowy skin stark contrast to the black adornments, inky hair curling slightly, the ends brushing over his bare collar bones. Actually one of the better costumes I've worn. Tidying his clothes, Tom finally made his way back to where Ambrose was shifting a large leather chaise, draping deep cherry red crushed velvet throws over it before stepping back and admiring his work. Tom wasn't nervous as he approached the set, this was about art, this was Ambrose's livelihood, his brain had no room for personal feelings. "Couldn't wear the top I'm afraid," was his opener.

"Ah don't worry about it, I'm sure-," Ambrose turned, his voice catching before stopping altogether. He eyed Tom like a dying man eyes a cure, those brown iris' sweeping Tom's shiny black legs, along his encased arms, focusing a little too long on his collared throat before taking the quickest of glances at the very obvious outline of Tom's cock.

"Is it no good?" Tom's voice seemed to shake the other man from a trance, the words sounded flirtatious but Tom was genuinely concerned Ambrose's picture would be compromised.

"No," Ambrose's voice was hoarse, he cleared his throat, "No it's great, just what I had hoped for," he seemed to recover somewhat then, "I'd like you to lie on the chaise if that's okay? Just get as comfortable as you can and i'll come and make any adjustments."

"Cool," Tom went and sat of the chaise, not really knowing what to do, he shifted low on the cushions. Forgetting he wasn't at home, he assumed his usual Sunday position, lying at an angle that was neither fully on his back nor his side, the leg closest to the back on the chaise bent up, his other leg frogged out flat on the cushions at a ninety degree angle. Tom was mildly aware this position left his already exposed crotch rather exposed but decided if he was going to be sitting for hours, he way as well get over feeling exposed sooner than later. Ambrose was dashing around the studio fetching equipment before finally fetching a small stool on wheels and placing it in front of his easel. It was only then he approached Tom's reclined form, his expression had lost any traces of arousal, looking more serious than Tom had ever seen him. This must be work mode. "Okay, I'm going to move you a bit, alright? This might take a while," Tom nodded. The next few minutes we spent with Ambrose placing and adjusting Tom's limbs on the chaise lounge, shuffling the cushions and pulling the throws until eventually he looked pleased. The result was still surprisingly comfortable, Tom was fully on his side now, his head propped up on his elbow, hand in his hair, his other hand draped lazily in front of his where it's played with one of the soft throws. His legs were almost unchanged, though Ambrose mentioned he might move them later, but didn't want Tom to get tired. Still work-focused, Ambrose moved back to his little stool, using his hips to shuffle it forward until he was in front of his easel, angled so he could look and both Tom and his work. "All good over there Tommy?" Tom's heart sung at his nickname, "let me know and we can take breaks okay?" Tom nodded in affirmation of both questions before finding his voice,

"Can I talk or...?"

"Oh," Ambrose laughed, "Sorry, yes of course you can talk, I'll leave your face for later so don't worry about moving it." He picked up his pencil then, giving Tom a nod before making long strokes on the canvas. Tom simply watched the artist work, the sound of his drawing was soothing and Tom passively let his eyes roam over Ambrose's working form. He had changed at some point into some paint-covered overalls, his hair was pushed away with a soft black sports headband, giving Tom full view of those capturing eyes. His sleeves were rolled up showing bulky forearms from hours of drawing, his feet were once again bare. The serene atmosphere overtook Tom, he let his eyes close, careful not to fall asleep. It was Ambrose who broke the silence, "So," he spoke softly, filling the few metres between them, "The Circus, all your idea?"

"Nah," Tom replied with ease, too relaxed to care about being shy anymore, "It was mostly Tiffany's idea, though she'd disagree if you said so."

"Tiffany?"

"Oh right, Diamond's her stage name, the one that did the pole dancing?"