The Circus

Bo had joined them for breakfast, though Tom suspected he had already eaten and was just being polite. They made their introductions and fortunately, the embarrassing moments were kept to a minimum, even Bertie was rather well behaved, save the one time Tom caught his little fingers making their way towards Bo's zipper. He fitted into their odd little group nicely, another artist, they talked about the industry, discussing funding in schools and arguing politics in theatres. Once they were done eating, they cleared the table and Bo pulled a few things out his bag including an A3 sketchbook, a pencil, a pen and a tin of very expensive looking coloured markers. "Right, since Tom's painting is pretty much done I thought I'd show you all the first as an example. The theme, as you know, is the seven deadly sins so I really want a vibe about the forbidden, the wrong, the sordid you know?" there were nods all round from his little audience. Bo's eyes sparked with passion as he talked about his work, "these pieces are going to be dark and provocative, sexual but not pornographic, okay?"

"Kind of like The Circus then?" Tiffany laughed. Bo met Tom's eyes,

"Exactly," he grinned.

He undid the strings holding the brown paper over Tom's painting, Tom felt oddly nervous even though it wasn't his to be nervous about. You want them to like it. You want him to succeed because you like him, Tom's inner voice taunted. But even that inner voice was quiet when the picture was finally revealed to them. Tom was in his position on the chaise just as he remembered being, but he could not remember looking like that, so wanton, so....well, lustful. His front leg was angled lazily whilst that top straight leg pointed delicately towards his head, his crotch was apparent but not nearly as detailed as it had been in real life. Thank god for that at least. His bare chest was so very pale, but at some point Bo had added a replica of the real life bite marks and bruises which now adorned it. Black, silky hair tumbled over his shoulders and along the arm of the chaise, tendrils touching the floor, far longer than it was in real life but without making him look any less male. One gloved hand, was in the position Bo had asked him to hold for only a few moments during the sketch, towards the viewer, one finger crooked, beckoning. Around his pointed leg wrapped a shiny, thin, black, demonic tail with it's arrowed top hovering near Tom's ankle, it seemed to caress him like a lover. When his eyes finally moved to his own face, Tom's breath hitched, this is a bit of artistic licence right? Did I really look like that? That liar said he wasn't drawing my face. It was the expression Tom had been wearing as he had watched Bo sketch, when he had thought the man wasn't looking. The eyes were narrowed, lips slightly parted, the bottom lip was being ever so slightly tugged on by a sharp, white canine. He looked like a man possessed. He looks like a man who wants to be fucked. "Wow," Tiffany's voice broke the eerie silence which had contained them all, "it's just...wow," she shot Tom a little look.

"I don't have a tail," Tom said wryly, making Bo smirk, "but I think it's amazing." Bo looked genuinely relieved at the comment and whilst the others rained praise upon him, Tom couldn't seem to find any more words on the subject, instead just staring at the painting. The others chattered away with new passion for the project and Bo made him way to Tom's side. "I'm happy you like it," Bo was as straightforward as ever, Tom nodded mutely. "I didn't change anything you know? Just drew the expression you were wearing," he flirted knowingly.

"Shut up," Tom joked, "but if you're happy with it I guess that's what matters."

"And you?" Bo raised a brow, "are you happy with it?" Noting the others were still chatting, Tom went onto his toes to peck Bo's lips, "very happy," he smiled.

The planning was in full swing then, the seven of them sitting back at the table with renewed vigour. Tom opened his sketchbook to a list of the sins themselves, Tom's name was written next to 'lust' and then the whole thing had been crossed through. Tom noticed Bo's brother Darcy's name was written next to 'wrath', with several annotations. At some point, Bo had put on a pair of black reading glasses that were making Tom drool. Although Tom and Bo had a vague idea of where the troop fitted in, they all shared ideas and opinions before eventually, Charlie's name was written next to 'pride', Tiffany's next to 'envy', Bertie's next to 'gluttony', Caleb's next to 'greed' and Lena's next to 'sloth'. Tom flipped over the next page of his sketchbook, making the all gasp once more, it was the rough draft of his brother's sketch. Darcy looked very much like his brother but must have been half his weight again in muscle alone, the tall removals man had brown waves, rather than Bo's curls and hazel eyes where his brother's were brown. In the picture he was naked to the waist, his huge muscular chest covered in some kind of tribal markings, he wore baggy trousers and his bare feet stood on what appeared to be molten rock, he hair was whipped away from his head and his eyes burned, even in the sketch. His entire being was surrounded by flames which seemed to emanate from the sheer rage on his face. "My brother modelled for Wrath," said Bo simply, turning the page whilst the rest of them stood dumbstruck. The next three hours they brainstormed one sketch after another. Tom was worried Bo would hate the input but he seemed to revel in their interest in his work. I suppose it is hard just sitting in that studio with Mikey all day. It hadn't occurred to Tom whether Bo ever got lonely during his work. Whilst Lena hopped around to keep up with the rate Bo seemed to be able to drink tea, they eventually got to grips with the exhibition. Bo flicked through the notebook, examining the ideas in there. There was now small, basic sketches of the troupe, marked with Bo's coloured pens to show how he would paint them. Caleb sat on a golden throne surrounded by almost-naked men and women desperately trying to hand him gold as Greed. Tiffany stood, riding crop in hand, swirled in greens, her heeled shoe pushing down an identical twin of herself who sobbed on the floor as Envy. Bertie sat surrounded by every cake and sweet imaginable, his tiny, thin body naked for the food that covered him as Gluttony. Lena relaxed in the branches of a large tree whilst chaos consumed the world around her as Sloth and finally, Charlie stood, a huge warrior, sword in hand rushing to an overpowering enemy, his face set as Pride. Each sketch was as powerful as the last even as coloured markings and basic figures. Bo got to work trading phone numbers and chatting excitedly about how he had never worked so quickly and that there was a chance the exhibition could even be brought forward. He stayed for lunch, a light salad Lena made after their heavy cooked breakfast. They chatted about meaningless topics, the roles they wish they'd played (Les miserables' Enjolras for Tom), which artist they wished they could meet, living or dead, (Rembrandt for Bo) and which fictional character they would have sex with (MaCavity from Cats for Bertie). The sun stayed high during the long summer evening and it was only when Charlie offered to buy everyone dinner that Tom realised it was gone six. Caleb declined the offer and headed home, giving Bo a worryingly long hug goodbye and whispering something in his ear which made Bo grin. Lena, Charlie, Tiffany and Bertie all decided they were going to some sushi place, one of the many foods Tom couldn't stand. "Well I suppose you two will just have to find somewhere else then," Tiffany was clearly pleased her very obvious plan had worked out. Bo and Tom waved the group off goodbye, shutting the front door, there was a moment of awkwardness. "What did Caleb say to you?" Why did you go and say that you insecure twit? Bo looked genuinely confused for a second,

"Oh," he finally laughed out, "I'm not sure I should tell you, you might be angry," he said wryly.

"Well now I definitely think I'll be angry," Tom pouted. Bo's arms circled Tom's waist, bringing them close, Tom closed the gap, stretching up for a kiss. It wasn't one of their usual frantic make out sessions, just sweet kisses, having spent the day directing his intense energy into art, Bo seemed calmer than normal. They eventually parted, only slightly breathless, "he said," Bo finally addressed the question, "that you've been very happy lately," Bo grinned. Tom frowned, he'd been the same, hadn't he? Sure he usual insults didn't pack so much of a punch and that cynical voice in his head had been slightly softer, still snarky, but now in a more amused way. Tom blushed at the realisation, Caleb was right, he was acting like a lovestruck teenager. Is that bad? Bo was still grinning when he tugged on Tom's hand, "I want to see your room," he said, looking very much like how Tom imagined Barley the labrador did when he wanted something. Sighing, Tom intertwined their fingers, pulling Bo behind him up the stairs and into his bedroom. Bo needn't have gotten so excited, the room was rather plain, mostly taken up by a large, sturdy wooden bed, a corner desk and an overspilling wardrobe. Bo went and sat in the wingback chair in the corner of the room, a place Tom usual based himself when creating new shows. "Not bad," Bo said, his eyes everywhere, Tom followed those eyes as they looked through the open door to the ensuite and took in the oversized bath tub. Oh the things we could do in there.

"Well, this is it," Tom shrugged, trying to subtly stuff an array of clothes back into his wardrobe, Bo fished a tiny black top off the floor, looking mischievous.

"Wow," he said, holding the silky garment, "I didn't know you had this," Tom flushed, grabbing the offending item.

"I was for a show. Back then, I held onto costumes, things I thought I might wear again sometime," he shook his head, "I can't believe I thought this," he gestured to the tiny top, "was acceptable in the real world," he laughed.

"I wouldn't mind seeing it," Bo smirked.

"Ugh, of course you wouldn't," Tom teased, "shit, I used to wear it with..." he rifled through the wardrobe, "oh my god I still have them," he pulled out the tiny, glittery black shorts he had worn for one a their shows. Bo took in the miniature shorts, eyes bulging,

"You wore those?" instead of incredulous he sounded rather aroused.

"Yeah," Tom chuckled, "it took us a while to get air conditioning and it used to get super hot on stage so I had to get Bertie to turn a bunch of my trousers into shorts," he smiled at the memory, Bertie's sad little face as he chopped up his creations.

"Do," Bo swallowed, "do they still fit?"

"No idea, shall we find out?" Tom asked salaciously, laughing at Bo's answering nod, which was immediate and violent. Taking both the top and shorts with him, Tom shut the door to the bathroom, concocting a little plan in his head, if my man wants a show, I can give him a show.

Chapter fourteen

The shorts we ludicrously small and if it wasn't for the fact that Bo was sitting outside, Tom would've binned them there and then. The glitzy black fabric had no room for his boxers, which he removed, they did make his arse look fantastic, but climbed scarily high on the inner thighs. The top was no better, Tom was a little more muscular than in years previous and what had once been fitted was now stretched tight, lewdly displaying his nipples, which had peaked slightly in the chilly bathroom. The top was sleeveless, thank goodness, the sides cut low, with a square neck, it had once covered the full length of Tom's torso but now sat just below his belly button, his piercing peeking out, the fading bruises on his hips just visible. Ruffling his hair Tom semi admired his appearance in the mirror, he looking like a cheap twink porn actor but felt kind of great. He grabbed the surround sound remote he had snuck into the bathroom with him, hoping whatever track came on would be a good one, the choreography to Tiffany's old lap dance routine, still fresh as the day they had come up with it, in his head. He better still be sitting in that chair. Opening the bathroom door, Tom hit the play button, thankfully, Dark Dark Dark's In your dreams came on, a little depressing, but just the tempo Tom hand wanted. He took a second to find his rhythm, leaving the bathroom and enjoying the surprise on a still-seated Bo's face. Tom moved with ease to his own choreography, his hips swaying, his lips ghosting the lyrics he knew word for word, his lithe, pale arms reaching into the air. He made his way to the chair, rippling his body in a way he knew was sensual, he copied Tiffany's favourite move, a thigh on each arm of the chair, legs split sideways, his crotch hovering millimeters above Bo's. The breath Bo sucked in was audible. In a display of strength, Tom grabbed the arms of the chair, putting his weight into his hands before sliding his legs backward and down so he straddled Bo properly, it was a seamless move he had done before. They were finally in contact two thinly veiled erections pressing against one another. Tom continued to sway his hips, sitting up on his knees now, taking Bo's rooted hands and placing them on his arse in a moment of confidence. Using the leverage, Tom slowly bent backwards, feeling Bo's grip tighten as he hoped it would. As Tom's very flexible spine did it's work, it send his crotch right in the path of Bo's face, the moment he felt hot breath on his cock, Tom forced himself to come back up.

That one moment of eye contact and Tom knew Bo was gone, lost to whatever perverted part of his mind he retreated to in times like these. The playlist continued but they were lost to it, a mashing of lips, tongues and teeth. They grinded against one another, Tom's panting growing more and more erratic, "bed, Bo," he finally got out between kisses, partially because he was uncomfortable but in large because he didn't want to cum in his tiny shorts. Bo frowned, suddenly standing, forcing Tom to cling to him, before slamming them both down on the bed. The next few minutes was the fumbling and tearing of clothes, Tom struggling with Bo's buttons and Bo mindlessly wrecking Tom's top and shorts, Bertie's neat seams giving way to Bo's strong hands. When, at last, they were both naked, Tom found he actually had the wherewithal to be involved in the foreplay process. He eased a confused Bo onto his back before trailing his mouth down the man's neck, chest and eventually hips. He nipped and kissed as he went, causing Bo to let out small gasps of pleasure, when he did reach his lover's wonderful cock, Tom paused, debating whether to embark on a dominant role in their lovemaking. The hand which started tracing the column on Tom's neck thought otherwise, and he looked up to find a pair of dark sultry eyes on his, their demand clear. Adrenaline zipped through Tom like electricity, how can I love this so much? How can he know I love this? In truth, they were just amazingly compatible, both needed in the other which they fortunately possessed. With hooded eyes, Tom licked away at Bo's cock, his tongue remembering those sensitive places it had found the first time it had had the honour. Bo let it happen for a while, his breathing slowly increasing, Tom's name mumbled breathlessly, but he ran out of patience, his hand reaching down to find Tom's splayed leg and pulling it. The action caused Tom's bottom half to spin towards Bo and a few maneuvers later, they were sixty-nineing. The joy of sucking Bo's cock was nothing compared to the joy of that very man doing to same to Tom simultaneously. Oh god, I've never done this before, this is too good! He worried he might have spoken aloud, but then realised his mouth was full of Bo's hard, thick, cock. When Tom was near the brink Bo stopped as he always did. Tom was about the complain when something wet and hot glided over his tender hole. "Fuck," it was the first of many times he said that word over the next few minutes, the feeling of Bo's tongue in and around Tom's entrance was almost unbearable. Two firsts in one day. Bo was talented, his long, muscular tongue tracing every tiny seam of Tom's tight little pucker. Tom himself was a puddle of incoherent curses and moans, not longer able to process new information, Bo's hard cock forgotten in front of him. Frustratingly, Tom didn't cum, his own cock lacking the friction, it meant he was tightly wound by the time Bo freed him from that hot tongue. Weakly, Tom scrambled around so they were face to face again, ready to impale himself there and then. "Lube? Condoms?" Bo smirked at Tom's thoughtless state. Tom gave a frazzled nod, rummaging in the bedside to find the lube and condoms he'd bought on a whim during a shopping trip a few months back, he frowned before returning to the drawer and grabbing the extra large condoms he had also bought, more on a dream than a whim. He shimmied down Bo's body, easily rolling the condom on, something that came with practice, he then opened the lube which thankfully described itself as 'super wet'. He slathered the lube over Bo's cock, almost salivating with need before finally reaching the stage he was a little nervous about. Avoiding Bo's eyes, Tom coated his fingers in lube and reached back behind himself, circling his hole before putting in two fingers, shoving in a much lube as he could. He shuddered at the intrusion which was too methodical to be overly arousing but shameful enough to make his cock twitch. Raising his gaze, Tom was caught by that arrogant, lazy smile that only found Bo's face during sex. "I didn't know I was getting two performances today," he said slowly, reaching an arm around and using his hands to push Tom's fingers further inside himself, making him groan. "I'm not sure which I prefer," Tom added two off his own fingers now, meaning there was four in Tom's arse, the burn was sharp but not enough to divert any of Tom's attention away from the man in front of him. "The first one had more dancing I suppose," Tom was shuddering now, unlike his unskilled fingers, Tom had easily found his prostate, "but watching you prepare yourself for my cock well," he pressed Tom's like button hard, "that's very enjoyable indeed."

Tom came.

He came hard, almost painfully so, his eyes didn't even have time to close. Bo looked a little surprised before a looked of predatory joy took over his features. Tom's untouched cock stained Bo with cum, reaching up to his neck, Tom's body shook with effort, his voice hoarse from the scream that had been ripped from him. Bo didn't flinch when a final spurt of cum caught his chin, his free hand coming up to take of scoop before popping it in his mouth, "aren't you delicious?" he grinned. Tom was overwhelmed, the aftershocks of his orgasm still in his veins. Bo was a dominating, sex fiend for sure, but he'd never pulled out that kind of talk before, it was been very effective. Tom opened his mouth when Bo's fingers, slick with Tom's cum tapped his bottom lip, "taste," he commanded, Tom obeyed without thought. Tom had tasted his own cum before, what man hasn't? Although he had never understood the obsession with the stuff many gay men had, Tom's body trembled as those two long fingers slid inside his mouth, fondling his tongue, spreading his own cum over his lips, he sucked it down without even thinking. Smugly, Bo withdrew his fingers, leaving Tom breathless, his lower face now a mess of saliva and cum. "I was going to have you stay on top today," Bo started, easily rolling them over, "but I don't think you can manage that right now." Before Tom had a moment to reply, Bo's entire length was filling him, sliding into his gaping hole with ease. Tom let out something akin to a shriek as he was invaded by Bo's hot, hard, wet cock. That pinch he had felt before was back but with far less intensity, their fingers, Bo's tongue and Tom's hectic orgasm had him loose and pliable. Bo gave him two cursory slow thrusts before shifting them slightly, yanking up Tom's hips and commenced pounding his prostate. Whoever had taught Bo had taught him well, through the haze of lust on his lover's face, Tom could see flashes of concentration, Bo got off on Tom's pleasure, there was no doubt, possibly even more so than his own.