Chapter 1: Today

There are only two clubs worth driving in to DC for — worth the expense, the parking hassles, and the risk of bodily harm — The Crack and Club Chaos. The Crack is a member's only establishment that Miss Helen invited me to attend with her one weekend and which I applied for membership with before I left. Once a year, I treat myself to a weekend of depravity and decadence. If it were up to Alex, however, we'd live there. But little in life is as amazing as watching Alex when it's safe for him to cut loose.

Chaos is a gay club with a drag show in Dupont Circle. I don't spend a great deal of time there but it's a fun way to spend a Saturday night as a change of pace.

Or, again, to watch Alex. I'm not sure, but I think he's hit on most of the club at this point. He has strict orders tonight. Hand jobs only, giving or receiving — but he doesn't have to ask permission for either. It's enough leash to let him have the run of the place without worrying about him getting into real trouble or if he's enjoying himself. I'm having fun just watching him. Tonight is special for another reason as well — it's the first time Alex and I have been able to dance together.

Every so often, he pulls me onto the dance floor and tells me what he's been up to for the last few minutes. It's got me incredibly hot; I don't find many guys attractive but Alex getting fucked turns me on for some reason. Maybe because he enjoys sex so much. Maybe I'm just in the mood for it tonight. I don't know. But on the dance floor, grinding against Alex to classic Prince, all I can think of is getting him home and maybe getting to the living room couch before I fuck the hell out of him.

"That big Hispanic dude wants us both." Alex whispers in my ear.

"No." I whisper back, "Tonight, your ass is mine."

"Yeah? Fag." He teases but with a broad smile.

"Pussy." I give in and kiss him. He responds by wrapping his arms around my waist and nearly inhaling my fillings.

"Well, you certainly have unusual taste in women."

The voice is vaguely familiar and as I look up to tell the speaker to mind his own business, I see why.

Ryan.

What are the odds?

I let go of Alex, suddenly embarrassed. I can feel as much as see Alex's temper flare at the interruption.

"Who the fuck is this?" his tone is barely restrained.

"Watch it." I remind him; he has a no swearing rule. "Alex, Ryan. Ryan, Alex."

"I thought Alex was your cousin." Ryan was always very quick — part of what attracted me to him.

"He is." I confess, blushing. That's the main reason we don't normally dance together.