Circus Maximus

Victor looked into Klaus's eyes across the strobe-lit stage. Snapping into the routine of gaining eye contact, both started another numbered cadence, forming the numbers with their lips so they would be in synch and could time their next—and most difficult—swing out perfectly. Klaus was there, as always, ready, as always. But not as always, there were tears in his eyes.

Why, Victor thought. Why did these relationships with other men have to be so complicated? Why couldn't men just enjoy each other's bodies, fuck who and when they pleased and just enjoy each other's company? What was so important about constancy or commitment in the world of men fucking men?

Victor began the count: 7 . . . 6. His eyes glanced down at the performers below. Teng had Ming in a torso hold, with Ming facing the back of the stage. Teng was fucking Ming with the bulbous fingers of one hand, letting the audience see that the penetration was genuine. But Ming was looking up, straight up, at Klaus. And the hatred Victor saw in Ming's eyes, made Victor flinch.

4 . . .3 . . .

It was that flinch that did it. Victor swung out on 3, as by instinct. He was to swing on 3 so that when Klaus swung out on 1, Victor would have had time to leave his bar at the apex of its swing, do a back flip, and be around in position to meet Klaus.

But with the split second it took to register Ming's glare at Klaus, Victor's 3 was Klaus's 2.

It was a miracle that Klaus even caught both of Victor's hands in his, let alone managed a firmer, surer hold up farther on the forearms, allowing the hands of both a more steady grip. It could have been called merely a fingertip grip, putting all of the centrifugal weight of Victor on the fingers of the hands. Even the stronger Serge or Fritz would not have been able to hold this grip. With the smaller, weaker Klaus, the grip should have been impossible, and Victor should have crashed to the wooden stage below.

But Klaus did maintain his grip as they swung, first back toward Klaus's platform and then out again to where Victor's bar was swinging back to them.

It seemed like forever, as Victor's panic-filled eyes locked on Klaus's tear-filled eyes, backdropped by the gasps and clapping and cries of approval from the unknowing audience. Victor saw much more than tears, though—or even the strain of fighting the slippery grip of sweaty fingers or the horrific strain of Victor's weight on Klaus's shoulder sockets. He saw determination and constancy and commitment, and, above all love.

And then Victor had released and caught his bar and they were both on their own platforms. To the audience, this was nothing more than a well-performed, dangerous, very sexy circus act successfully delivered. To Victor, however, the whole world had changed. His whole perspective had changed.

This was where Klaus and Victor were supposed to slide down the silken ropes to the stage, simultaneously, to move on to the next phase of the act with Teng and Ming. But when Klaus looked over to Victor's platform to start the descent, he was surprised to see that Victor wasn't there. Victor already was gliding down the silken rope to the stage below.

Klaus was mortified. Victor didn't trust him anymore, Klaus reasoned. Although they had managed the last back-flip swing out, he hadn't caught Victor solidly. It was over. Victor would replace him now, wouldn't ever trust him on the trapezes again.

Dejected, Klaus reached for his own silken rope down to the stage and slowly descended, completely defeated. Well, not completely defeated, he briefly mused. He couldn't be replaced with Ming. At least there was that. Ming was far too small to swing in the heavens with Victor.

When Klaus reached the stage, it was deserted. The act had completely fallen apart. This was where Victor was supposed to bind Ming and suspend him by raised arms from hooks on his platform pole and simulate a fuck of him, while Teng was supposed to do the same with Klaus on Klaus's platform pole. But no one was there when Klaus reached the stage. That was only a momentary absence, though. Just as Klaus was wondering what he should do to cover up the disintegration of the act, Victor reappeared, pulling a small velvet-covered platform from the back stage center, a platform that was used in another of the club's sex acts.

When Victor had reached the stage himself, he had parted the surprised Teng and Ming and motioned them off stage, Teng to stage left and Ming to stage right. He would take care of both Teng and Ming, but that would have to be later. Teng was too brutal and Ming was a trouble-making minx. They would probably both have to go from the act, but for now he owed Ming at least the protection of sending them to different sides of the stage wings where Teng couldn't get to Ming—and Ming couldn't do any more damage in Victor's relationship with Klaus.

When Victor had returned and centered the small, velvet-covered platform, he moved over to a surprised Klaus and theatrically—because they were, after all, in the middle of a performance for an audience of raunchy men—stripped Klaus of his tight, silk pants and his jock, rendering him naked except for the sequined sweat bands on his wrists and the matching choker at his neck. Then Victor similarly stripped himself.

Victor gently lay Klaus on his back on the velvet platform, spread and lifted his legs, and made long, languid, deeply penetrating love to his young companion. Putting on one hell of a sex performance for the audience of the Aaah-Club, a convincing master fucking that was talked about in the club for weeks to come. But, much more important, showing Klaus how deeply and intensely Victor loved him and how much better he now understood the power and importance of constancy and commitment.