THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB Paul
By and copyright Lady Poetess
Visit http://www.gentlemensclub.cjb.net
Disclaimer This story is fictitious and bears no resemblance to anyone dead or alive.
ONE
It was the perfect night for romance. No one did romance better than Paul William Walker. A clear moonlit night on the late night palazzo, a CD player playing Springsteen's ballads, and the cool but comfortable night air -- it was as if nature had conspired with Paul Walker to sweep Shane West off his feet.
Not that Shane West was fighting too hard. The last few weeks were like magic as Paul courted him with a tenacity that was both charming and romantic. Now, as he danced in Paul's arms, he drowned in Paul's brilliant blue-green eyes, and wondered if he would ever want to stop. Paul was his father's assistant and trusted second-in-command, and the man hadn't stopped making the move on Shane ever since he first saw Shane.
And Paul was an overwhelmingly physical man. Even now, his height and solid musculature threatened to overwhelm Shane. There was no denying the urgency, barely-restrained hunger behind the mischievous gleam of Paul's eyes as the man held Shane in his arms.
Shane hadn't met any man like Paul before. His previous boyfriends were never like this man. Paul was far from the cultured, classy men Shane usually dated. The man himself admitted that he had a dissipated childhood and that he had a few brushes with the law in his teenage years. It showed -- no amount of expensive clothes could mask the man's inherent restlessness or scruffiness. A stray hair here and there, the incipient beard on the man's strong square jaw… Paul was the fantasy of the bad boy of the streets made accessible in a business suit.
"How am I doing so far?" Paul asked in his low, seductive baritone.
"Very well, oh yes, if it's your intention to get me to say yes," Shane answered. It was hard to think when Paul's touch made his blood sing like this, or the way Paul grinned then, as if Shane's answer had just made him the happiest man on earth.
There was no way one could fake so much desire, right? And Shane had to admit it was more than flattering to have a man like this wanting him. It was heady and seductive, and it made him never so aware of the power of his sexuality.
"Then come away with me," Paul said so persuasively. "You can show me the Seine like you told me last night. Just you and me and the rest of the world is ours, Shane my love."
"Bombastic doesn't become you, Paul," Shane said, laughing. He slipped, but Paul caught him as always. "And what will father say if he knows his assistant is running away with his disgraced son?"
"Serves him right for throwing you out," Paul said.
For a brief second, Shane thought he saw -- no, he had to be mistaken. Paul's handsome, beautifully chiseled face was as always charming and radiating pure seduction. It had to be the moonlight that made Shane thought he saw pure fury blazing from Paul's eyes. Paul's eyes -- Shane realized long ago they were the sole doorways into Paul's psyche. The man lied so well about his feelings, but his eyes gave everything away to those wise enough to look into them.
He didn't lie about his feelings for Shane. For the first time in his twenty-seven years of carelessly wasted life, Paul Walker was cognizant with desire. The desire to possess and to please this tall, quietly mischievous man who had haunted his dreams since he first saw Shane. He shouldn't, but he was deaf to common sense or even his instinct where Shane was concerned. Here was a man who saw him as a human being, not a tool, and when Shane made him laugh and feel alive like no one could, Paul was lost.
He didn't fight it, or the way his body ignited or the way his black, damned soul felt a million pounds lighter and a hundred years younger when Shane was in his life. If this was to be his fate, to be utterly, irrevocably owned and mastered by Shane West, so be it. Paul West looked at the man who had captured him when no one else could, in his arms, and for the millionth time in just as many seconds, vowed he would do this right.
He was Shane's, and Shane would never find anyone who would want Shane as much as Paul. This was the reason why Paul let Shane string him along this long without getting any -- he knew Shane wasn't playing by manipulating him using (lack of) sex. Shane was shy and looking for the right person like those good guys and gals Paul read about in magazines. Shane was the pure thing, the one worth waiting for.
Yes, they'd go to the Seine. They would get seasick in the gondolas of Venice, and Paul would see his first Austrian castle with Shane by his side.
He was about to persuade Shane to say yes, run away with him, when he heard the car burned rubber down the road. For a brief moment of pure terror, he contemplated dragging Shane with him as he fled the car. This moment had to come, and it was Paul who was in denial to pretend it wouldn't.
And denial, out of the need of self-preservation, held root now -- no, this couldn't end, not like this. Please, if there was a God in heaven, let it not end like this.
Paul only froze, and ignoring Shane's questioning look, gazed sightlessly at the car. Sure enough, his friend Brendan Fraser got out of the car.
"I've been trying to call you, but I guess you switched off your cell phone," Brendan asked, looking most bemused at the sight that greeted his eyes. "And I can see why. But Paul, Donald West had a heart attack two hours ago."
"What? Father?" Shane gasped and tried to break free of Paul's embrace. "What happened to my father?"
Brendan ignored him, and looked straight at Paul, his face neither condemning nor approving, just inscrutable.
No, Paul mouthed. Please, no more details, not with Shane here.
"It wouldn't be fair to continue this charade," Brendan said, correctly reading his friend's pleading look. "Paul, you have gotten what you wanted. Donald had a heart attack when he realized he'd lost everything, just like you planned. It's over. You've won. Let this young man go."
"No!" Shane's scream tore Paul apart where guilt couldn't. He let Shane hit him then. He couldn't feel the pain when the man socked him or clawed at his face -- he didn't even fight, because he was already dead the moment Shane knew his deception.
He'd lost Shane.
And it hurt unimaginably.
"Hey, cut it out," Brendan said, pulling the sobbing Shane away. "Shane, is it? Look, I think you have much more important things to do than to hit this man. Come on, I'll drive you to the hospital. You want to call anyone else? You have two elder brothers, right?"
Shane just wept silently as he let Brendan's driver put him in the car.
"What are you thinking?" Brendan asked, pretty much spat actually, quietly when they were alone. "I never thought you would stoop so low as to use that young man for vengeance. He just got out of that foreign university, and by all means probably still a confused virgin."
Paul didn't answer, he only looked away at anywhere but Brendan. Brendan would later that night tell his lover Alan wearily, he didn't know what got to Paul. If he believed Paul could feel like a normal mortal man, he'd have believed that Paul was grieving. "He looked as if he has lost the most important in his life, Al," he said, looking at Alan. "He looks so lonely and -- fucking hell, it's like this dead row fellow we saw in that documentary, you remember?"
TWO
The cavernous halls of the Calderon Building seemed to echo with ghosts at this unearthly hour. Shane West walked the hallway of ghosts. Or so it seemed, and he was in a rather melodramatic mood. It was better than feeling self-pity and anger at the world in general. He didn't know why he was here, really.
It had been one month since his father survived a stroke. Donald West didn't survive unscathed, however, for he lost his vocal faculties as well as his movement waist down. Shane didn't know which was more pathetic: Donald West an invalid catered to by the son he couldn't bear the sight of or Donald West an invalid neglected by his favorite two elder sons. Mike and Timothy bluntly told Shane there was no way they would take care of a man whom they both agreed (for once) made life hell for them. Mike obviously hadn't recovered from Donald's constant browbeating until his self-esteem was non-existent, while Timothy never cared for the old man anyway.
So it was up to Shane or the old man will rot at the hospital for all to care. And now Shane walked into his father's office, thinking perhaps he ought to see if he could salvage what was left of Donald West's business.
Poor West. He loved the wrong sons and trusted the wrong man. Paul Walker not only sold West out, he had West pegged solidly on embezzlement charges. It was a solid coup that left West no chance of recovering from.
Shane rifled through the papers on the table carelessly. Who was he kidding? He had no head for business. He didn't even know what was going on, only Paul had betrayed his father and he. And Shane hated it, the way the cavernous hallways seemed to echo with Paul's voice and the way the man said his name. There were nights in the painful two months following Paul's betrayal that he thought of putting a gun to his head. Anything to close his eyes and sleep peacefully, undisturbed by visions of Paul laughing, smiling, and treating Shane as if Shane was the only thing in this world he deemed worthy of his affections.
He should be grateful he hadn't let things progress as far as they sharing the same sleeping accommodations, he told himself harshly. Paul's voice and touch, of they dancing and holding hands as they ran through the night in some foolish escapade, they were enough to drive him mad. Memories of they making love would kill him, a torment nothing save a sleeping pill overdose could stop.
There was such a bottle in his bedside table drawer for that occasion when he finally snapped.
He jumped when he heard the door shut. So caught up in his own emotions, he failed to hear the man walk into the room until it's too late. Paul. Who else could it be?
"Trying to retrieve something for your father?" Paul asked.
He was as devastatingly handsome as ever, and it still hurt Shane to look at him. It hurt more now to remember how this man lied so easily to him. "No," he said as calm as he could to Paul. "What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you."
The man's bluntness caught Shane off-guard. "How -- "
"I work late every night hoping you'll show up. Lucky me, today you did."
"Oh yeah, you run the show now. How could I forget?" Shane said bitterly. "You really are my father's student."
"Will you listen to my side of the story?" Paul asked. His voice lacked the usual confidence and strength, in fact, he looked as if he was trying his hardest to control his emotions. "Please."
Never had Shane heard Paul plead until now. And it hurt him as much as it pleased him.
"Your father didn't remember, but years ago he sacked my father." Paul looked at his shoes, an unusual pose for a man of his usual demeanor. "All my father did was to steal fifty dollars from the petty cash box for me. I was sick. And your father made sure my father never got another job in town again. All because of fifty fucking dollars." He looked at Shane, his eyes too bright. "I swore one day I will repay your father for what he did."
"What did he do?" Shane retorted angrily. "Surely that doesn't warrant -- this!" he said, gesturing angrily around him.
"My family wasn't rich, and how can I live with the fact that my sickness may have caused my father and mother to work themselves to death? I have to drop out of school when my mother finally contracted bronchitis." Paul sat on the table and stared emotionlessly at Shane. "I have plans, you know. The fact that your father is embezzling money only makes my plans easier."
"My father is not an embezzler!"
"You're not a stupid man, Shane. How did you think the man find money to pay off your tuition fees and extended visits all over Europe? Money don't fall from the sky," Paul said brutally. "The papers are in your hands. Read them and weep."
Shane looked at the papers in his hands and dropped them as if they burned him.
"Can't accept that, huh?"
"Shut up! Shut the fuck up!" Shane cried then. "Oh God, shut up! No!"
He screamed no when Paul caught him. The man was strong like Shane remembered, a solid wall of pure masculinity, and he held Shane through the struggles and protests of the latter. "I'm sorry," he kept saying in that soft, broken hush of his, "I'm so sorry, Shane."
"Let me go," Shane protested, hating his weakness for even feeling this warm pleasurable heat of being in Paul's arms once again. "I hate you."
"Please don't say that," Paul whispered. "Anything but that, please."
Shane couldn't help himself as Paul embraced him hard in that soft, protective enclosure of warmth and strong steady arms. He tried to struggle, but his flesh was weak, and oh, his mind was worn down by so many nights of loneliness and confusion. Why Paul? Why the fuck it always had to be Paul? Paul's hand, now soothing him by strong, steady, and sensual press of that warm palm against the curve of Shane's spine, heated skin burning through cotton shirt. And Paul who was whispering, "Hush, Shane, it's okay, don't cry. I'm here", his warm breath on Shane's ears a prayer as well as assurance, only driving Shane's tears to flow freer.
"I hate you," Shane made one last protest.
"I know. Tell me how, Shane. Tell me how and I will make it up to you. Anything."
"Let me go," Shane whispered. "Please."
With a pained sound Paul did just that. And his face… Shane turned away and closed his eyes as tightly as he could until it hurt. "Don't come back into my life again," he said shakily.
No answer. Shane opened his eyes to look upon an empty office. Paul was gone. And Shane, never hating himself more than that moment, cried at the loss of Paul's touch. Paul made him feel safe. Fuck that man! Fuck, fuck, fuck! With a furious cry at his own weakness, Shane swept everything off the table and smashed his fist at the glass top hard.
And as always, before he met Paul, he cried alone in his own darkened hell. And unknown to him, outside the office, around the corner, Paul Walker sat against the wall, looking at his own darkness, shedding two tears for every one of Shane's.
When a company was in trouble and could scrap a ten or twenty million dollars, it would seek out Hugh Jackman, also known as the Bailer for his above average track record of rescuing ailing companies. Hugh Jackman knew of West's financial woes, but he never expected West's right hand man to walk into his office.
"I need help. I need to rescue West."
Paul Walker looked like hell. Oh, his clothes were faultless, but the man looked as if he had been through hell and back. The man looked as if he hadn't slept in a year. "Brendan hinted that you may have something to do with ruining West," Hugh said in his usual straightforward way. "So what game are you playing now?"
"No game. I need to restore West. Undo my own damage, which I made sure would be beyond repair." Paul laughed harshly without humor. "I need your help. Please." He closed his eyes briefly. "I've been saying please so often these days -- Jesus Christ."
"I'm sorry, my schedule's full," Hugh said.
Without warning, Paul reached across and grabbed Hugh's collar. With a wild tug, he pulled the man out of his seat. "Listen, Hugh, I am going mad here. If you don't help me, I am going to walk right outside your office and step in front of the bus. Help me, please. I can't take this any more."
"What is going on, Paul?" Hugh asked, firmly shaking off Paul's now-weakened grip on his collar.
"I met West's younger son." And Hugh instinctively stepped back at the searing pain in Paul's eyes. "I met the sweetest, funniest, and most perfect man in this whole fucked-up existence, and if I have to give up my revenge to have his forgiveness, I will."
Hugh stared at the man quietly for a few seconds. Finally he shook his head and reached for his planner. "If we do this as quick as we could, you and I can fit this into my after-office schedule. Shut up, Paul, and let me finish. This means cutting into my time with James, unless you meet me at my place and we'll do what we can over dinner and TV. Yeah, we'll do that. Prepare all the necessary information -- financial, et cetera -- and drop by my place tomorrow at seven. Got that?"
Paul nodded shakily. "Thank you, thank you Hugh."
"Don't thank me so soon. You did say you made sure your sabotage is thorough and beyond repair," Hugh said dryly.
THREE
He was being stalked. Shane West didn't have to look to know. He could feel Paul's eyes caressing him, and he could even envision the look on the man's face. How could one be like this, so madly affected by a mere human being? They had only a few months, and so what if those months seemed to Shane as if Paul was the other half of his soul?
Paul drove two thousand miles in the night once just to make sure Shane's resume would reach its destination in time. And Shane wondered then what he could do to equal the zeal of Paul's sometimes frighteningly passionate ardor for him. Now he cursed the very zeal that seemed to bind them both in an unbreakable chokehold. Once he had wondered if he would feel as much for Paul as Paul seemed to feel for him. Now he knew. He could smell the man, breathe him, and taste him on every one of his senses.
When Paul walked up to him in the museum gallery, Shane remembered dimly that they met like this the first time what seemed lifetimes ago. It was during a post-exhibition party where Shane was clapped in the back for pulling off his first curator assignment. Paul had been watching him then like a hawk, an appreciatory gleam in his eyes, and Shane had wondered if the handsome, glorious man was a patron.
Two weeks later they kissed for the first time, and in three, they started petting, Paul showing incredible restrain only because Shane told him once that he liked taking it slow. Paul remembered every word Shane said, and Shane tried to repay the favor. Guess what? Shane remembered every word Paul said too, every heated promise, every whisper of passion.
"Did you lie to me back then?" he asked Paul now.
Paul didn't misunderstand the question. Shane never expected him to. "No," Paul said. "I really didn't know who you were until it was too late."
"And how did I fit into your grand plans? My father doesn't care about his gay son. I don't think you can humiliate him by having me as a notch on your bedpost," Shane said.
"You never fit in my plans. Never ever, I swear," Paul said. He reached for Shane's hand, and Shane stepped back out of the way. "I just know I want you. I need you. And I will make it up to you."
"What are you talking about?" Shane asked warily, every sense of his intoxicated by Paul's scent and warmth.
"I will fix your father's company. I will hand it back to him the way it was."
"My father is paralyzed and he can't speak," Shane said, his voice low with fury. "Can you fix that?"
Paul staggered back then. "I will take care of him. You and I, we can take care of him…"
"I am your enemy's son, Paul."
"No! I… I -- "
"I am the enemy."
"No," Paul whispered.
Shane shook his head, hiding his own tears. "Face it, Paul. We've fucked up royally. You and I -- you will remember how you compromise your own values for me and I will remember how you ruined my father. We'll never have a chance."
"He doesn't love you, Shane," Paul countered, drawing blood where it hurt most in retaliation to his own pain. "He disowned you, remember? He doesn't want a fag son. He wanted me when he thought I was straight and talented. In fact, he was about to name me heir of everything. I was the son he thought he never had, and he was fast enough to drop you for me. A fucking loving father you have," he sneered with the derision he didn't feel.
"Well then, that makes you more despicable, doesn't it?" Shane said dully. "I'm sorry, I have to go."
"Damn it, Shane, don't you dare judge me. I love my father as much as you love yours. Don't judge me on that, I beg you. Just let me make it up to you. I love you, Shane, please. Don't go. I can't bear this life without you, Shane. Please, talk to me. Shane! SHANE!"
"You're pathetic!" Shane screamed, cutting in the man before Paul destroyed Shane's defenses utterly. "Look at you, you're fucking pathetic, how did I ever think I care for a weak sniveling bastard like you?"
Bad move, he realized. Paul's pale face tightened with determination and roughly he grabbed hold of Shane's hand before the man could run away. Before Shane could push him away, he was kissing Shane.
The contact shocked Shane with its fiery inferno -- dry lips on dry lips, desire slowly causing the tongues to moisten the lips and caress each other. And for a moment, Shane was with Paul, the old Paul who never lied and laughed as if he owned the sun's own glory in his eyes. In that moment, there were no lonely, unending nights and a father who hated him for one perceived flaw, and there was nothing that mattered but Paul, the man he fell deeply and irrevocably in love with. And in that moment, his arms tightened around Paul's neck, reveling in the man's kiss. No, his hands had to run their fingers into Paul's dark brown, silky hair and down the man's muscular neck, feeling now the collarbones and those hard-muscled, soft skinned pectorals -- Paul, Paul, Paul, all male and hard solid muscles -- a pleasure to his sense of touch. And it was the aching need to forget that made him spread his legs and pressed the juncture of his legs to that jutting bulge that was Paul's erection.
They did this so many times in dark, secret places and sometimes in Paul's bedroom, where they would tease each other with their fingers, lips, and the contours of their erections, and once, Shane had succumbed and reached for Paul's zipper. The man stopped him then with a touch on his, with a "Are you sure, Shane?" Shane wasn't sure then, and he loved the man more for the consideration. He shook his head, and Paul moaned, disappointed but not angered, and kissed Shane again.
"But I need to touch you," Shane whispered daringly.
And Paul had obliged. Shane's fingers buried deep under Paul's jeans waistband, closing around the hard, pulsing cock until Paul groaned and shuddered. Emboldened, Shane had pulled the thick penis out and played with it in his inexperienced fingers. His clumsy fingers toyed at sensitive ridges and along thick veins of that warm shaft, learning from Paul's vocal responses which sort of touch pleasured him most. The man's ejaculation startled then delighted him, giving him a triumphant, heady feel of power as Paul shuddered, wracked by his climax under Shane.
Shane dipped his hands in the glass of water beside the table, too lazy to move to the bathroom, and Paul kissed the droplets of water on Shane's fingers.
Now, he remembered that moment. And it only made him want more from this kiss. His mind rebelled even as his heart sang -- this was Paul, this was right -- but he couldn't fight the pleasure of Paul's kiss. Only when he felt the hard floor on his back and realized that he was being lowered to the floor, and that he was in the danger of being taken right here where his superior could may as well walk in on them, did he regain his sanity and fight to push Paul away.
Paul froze, and he gave an inhuman growl, and for a second, Shane feared that the man wouldn't heed his protests. But Paul only stood up gracelessly and leaned against a wall. His erection still bulged obscenely in his pants, and he was sweating in a fever of unfulfilled lust.
"Go," he said finally, his voice barely audible in his harsh breathing.
Shane fled.
FOUR
"Here are four candidates you can go begging for the ten million dollars you need," Hugh said. "I didn't put Bill Gates here, by the way, because everyone knows that idiot's a tightfisted asshole."
"Who are these people?" Paul asked, looking at the list.
"Frederick Prinze, Jr is a too-rich bum who invests money and makes profits for a living. Be warned though, he's not stupid, and he can smell a lost case if he meets one. You will have to prepare a strict and complete presentation if you want his money," Hugh said. "And here's Costal Panchetas, the Brazilian mogul who has retired but isn't above investing his obscene millions for more money to get him his trophy wives. Sophie Vindales is the widow of that billionaire Jacques Vindales of Vindales Shipping. She's a birdbrain when it comes to money, so I'll suggest you put on your best charm and see her first. And this one, Mark Wahlberg, is just a thirty-year old sex mad man who spends his life like a perpetual vacation screwing anybody and everybody. But he has money to burn, so he's always an option."
"Very nice," Paul said simply.
Shane managed to stay put in his place until Paul walked into the restaurant. He swallowed -- fucking hell, stay strong, Paul was only a fucking human being, not what seemed like a part of his soul. To fortify himself, he gulped down a glass of brandy even though it was only one in the afternoon.
"Hello." Paul seemed to make that one very word a heated caress on Shane's senses, and Shane barely suppressed a shiver in time.
And Paul, damn him, noticed it too if his wolfish grin was any indication. Shane had this disturbing feeling of being toyed by the man like a rat under a cat's mercy.
"How's life?" Paul started casually.
"What are you going to do with my father's company?" Shane asked, ignoring Paul's attempt at pleasantry. "I need to know also whether or not you will press charges on my father."
"I'm going to get it back to its old steady state and I will hand it back to you or your father or your brothers," Paul said. "And no, I won't press charges."
"I don't understand you. Is this all a game to you?"
"No. It's just -- will you come back to me if I swear to make things right? I have money, I can chip in to your father's medical costs, and we can… we can…" Paul looked away. "I don't know," he said finally.
Shane looked at the man, confused totally. He needed money -- the insurance could barely cover his father's medical expenses. In fact, he had told his mother this morning that he was quitting his lifelong dream job at the museum to get two jobs -- one day, one night -- to make as much as he could. They would have to sell the house and move to a smaller apartment at a cheaper area.
Yet, looking at Paul, he couldn't muster up his anger or hatred anymore. He had spent too long crying or ranting or in denial, he had nothing left in him. Maybe it was just time to move on.
"Thank you Paul for not calling the cops on my father." Shane himself bore half the guilt -- his own extravagant expenditure during his trips all over Europe was funded from the embezzled money. Now, he was finding it difficult to even spend a cent without feeling the guilt. "And thanks for seeing me today and clearing things up. Goodbye."
He made to rise, but Paul's pained look, the pain evident only in the red- rimmed eyes, now visible as he pulled away his shades to look at Shane, pinned Shane down.
"Goodbye for good?" Paul asked softly.
"Yes. We will be moving out of the house next week or so." Shane didn't know why he was telling Paul this. Did he want Paul to follow him? Or was it just wistful thinking?
"You can live in my house, you and your mother both, if she doesn't mind about you and I sleeping together. I can pay for your father's stay at some home, and I will work to meet the payments."
"No!" Shane said, his own fury surprising himself. "How about your own father, Paul, like you told me? Are you going to forget about your own hatred at my father just like that?" He snapped his fingers mockingly. "Am I supposed to be grateful for your charity? Is my mother supposed to thank you for causing her husband to have a stroke and lose his own company to you, and then you taking her in like some over-magnanimous king? Fuck you, Paul. You've ruined us, at least have the decency to let us keep our pride."
"How about my pride?" Paul's voice was a fierce whisper that reflected the anger and desperation on his face. "I am willing to change my life and my whole life of fucking vengeance for you, Shane. I am even willing to take your father in, so Shane, don't you dare fucking mock me. Look at me!" His voice was rising uncontrollably now, and people were looking at them. Fuck them. "I haven't slept in days, and I am working my ass off trying to mend my own damage. For you, Shane! I am doing all this for you. I could have crushed you all now until you can never get up, but because I fucking love you" -- he bit back a sob -- "I have to give it all up. So have pity on me, Shane."
Shane bit his lips as those words cut him like nothing could. "Paul," he could only say. "Maybe one day."
"Think about it?" Paul asked, pleaded actually.
Shane nodded wordlessly. What else could he say? But when Paul's hand reached for his, he pulled his hand back and stood up. "I have to go," he choked through his own confused feelings.
"And I can't stop you," Paul said simply, looking away.
FIVE
Shane couldn't sleep. He couldn't believe that he was actually considering Paul's suggestion seriously. A part of him was so desperate to hold on to the brief moment of joy Paul gave him that he would take on any justification to remain with that man. A cheat, a traitor, a fucking bastard: that was Paul.
But Paul was also a man who made Shane whole for the first time in his life, and a man who professed to give up everything for him. And a man for whom Shane knew now would be tempted to betray his own family honor for.
"Dad?" he called when he opened his father's bedroom. It was two in the morning, but he saw his father's light on.
Donald West looked up, and then back at the book he was reading.
"I don't believe this," Shane said, no longer hurt by his father's stubborn insistence on ignoring him. "Dad, I am the one keeping your ass off the streets, why the hell can't you at least look at me like I'm your son? I am your son, what am I saying?" Shane shook his head wearily. "I'll just have you know, okay, that I am pissed off with this. I am human, dad, a fucking human being." He made to leave, too tired to even feel angry, but he stopped and turned back. "Oh, and dad, great news. Your precious Mike doesn't care and he is not cutting short his vacation to see you. Timothy isn't coming. It will be just me, and if you don't stop blaming me for this mess, I will walk away too. And yes, dad, that is a threat because I am sick of this shit. I am sick of you, of Paul, and of the whole fucked- up world!"
"Shane? Why are you shouting at your father?" His mother asked, looking horrified. A timid woman who let her husband lead her in all her decisions, she probably couldn't understand why Shane was angry.
"Nothing, mom," Shane said, tampering his voice. "I'm so tired."
"We all are. Go to sleep, Shane."
"If I could," Shane whispered, closing his bedroom door behind him.
"Good day, Dave." Paul Walker stepped into the room the next morning. "Don't bother to get up. I terrified your wife into letting me in. No doubt she is calling your son now. You look good. Not like a fucked-up vegetable dependent on his youngest gay son. Ouch, did I hit a nerve?"
He sat on the desk and placed his foot hard on the wheel of Dave's wheelchair, preventing the man from moving away. "Listen, Dave, I have been a very nice guy so far. I didn't tell your son how you had me trashed every inch of my life years ago, and how you ruined my father because my mother wouldn't run away with you. What would Shane say if he knows how you would have abandoned him and his family for my mother years ago?" Paul grinned without humor. "I asked him to run away with me. He refused, because he wants to take care of you. Fucking family loyalty, you don't deserve it, you know that?
"Oh, I didn't ask him to run away with me just to get back at you. I still have a heart, and I'm in love with Shane. Funny huh? I could have laughed if it isn't so painful at the moment. So here's the deal, old man. This is not King Lear, and Shane is not your Cordelia to die for your own folly. I will rescue your company from bankruptcy, and I will let the rest to you. You can have one of your sons take over from you and keep it within your family. Or I can sell off the company and hand over all the profits to you. I'll keep maybe a ten percent or so myself, of course. Then well cut clean between us. I'll leave you and Shane, and you'll never see me again. How's that, old man? Better than an outright war where Shane will be hurt.
"Think about it, okay? Well, I have to get back to a meeting. Have a nice day. The wheelchair looks good on you, by the way."
Paul shut the door on the enraged old man and walked without a backward glance. Strange, the elation he should feel was missing. He was still emotionless except for this panic that he would have to go back to his old life of acute loneliness. A life without Shane.
Shane didn't want him, he told himself -- live with it. Paul Walker had always lived alone, he would continue doing so like he did all those years. His head knew that, it was his fucking heart that couldn't accept that.
"Costal is on the verge of bankruptcy and Sophie is on her sixth honeymoon trip and couldn't be reached," Hugh said. "Freddie P Junior is upfront -- the economic downturn has him spread thin, and there is no way he can come up with ten million in liquid asset. All you have left is Mark."
"It must be the sign of the apocalypse that a decision hinges on a playboy bum's whims," Paul said with the calm he didn't feel. "He said anything when you called him?"
"Only about how he thinks petrochemical industry is bad for the sea. Apparently one of his current boyfriends is taking an environmental engineering course in college and it rubs off on him," Hugh said dryly. "I wonder how he thinks that boat and that private plane of his run. Solar power?"
"Doesn't matter. Will he say yes?"
"I don't know. We'll know when he calls back." Hugh tilted his body to look over Paul. "By the way, I think your lover boy is coming this way. Just came out of the elevator."
"He's not my lover boy." His heart was already pounding triple time by habit, but Paul would not turn and look. He didn't dare. Would he ever stop dreaming and seeing Shane everywhere he go? He doubted it, but he couldn't bring himself to wish he had never met Shane. Maybe when he was old and dying, he would admit that this brief time with Shane was the best time that had ever happened to him. "No longer," he said, more to himself than to Hugh, still unable to accept the fact.
"Maybe it's for the best. He loves his father. He will always choose the old man over you, and that's not a good thing in a relationship," Hugh said.
Paul had to pushed his fists into his pocket to stop himself from hitting Hugh. "If he walks away from his father for me, I will spend the rest of my life wondering when he will walk away from me," he told Hugh in a voice made harsh by his irritation that anyone would dare speak ill of Shane. "At least in this, I know Shane will stand by those he loves."
"Not you," Hugh only answered, pity clearly on his face.
Paul took a pained breath and turned to look at Shane.
Shane looked like hell, but paradoxically, he looked jubilant as well. He handed a sheet of paper to Paul, who took it and read it at first without much care until the words registered. Then he reread it.
"So your father told you the truth about he and me and asks you to come to me. And like a good puppy, you obey," he couldn't help saying bitterly.
"I am free, Paul. And maybe it is time to let go and forget."
The phone rang, and Hugh picked it up. "What? Okay." Mark, he mouthed to Paul. "I see. I see." When he put down the phone, he sighed and shrugged at Paul. "He's not buying it. Says he doesn't like seeing baby seals dying on the beaches on his TV screen."
Paul turned to Shane, wondering if his heart would stop beating now. "I just lost your father's company," he just said and walked out of the office as fast as he could. Shane called his name, but he couldn't stop.
He had lost Shane now, and he had lost everything.
He'd forgotten that Shane was actually a very determined man. He only remembered when Shane jumped in front of his car and Paul had to swerve to prevent hitting him. And when Shane jumped onto the car and yelled at Paul, "Get the fuck out of the car," oh yes, Paul remembered now.
"What is it?" he asked, trying not to hope.
"Are you going out with me for the company?" Shane asked.
"No. For you and me," Paul answered.
"Then why are you running away from me now that you have lost the company?"
"Your father -- "
"You want my father or me?" Shane cut in.
"You," Paul said.
"Then take me. I've been thinking, Paul, and while I think you've fucked up royally in what you did to my father, you told me you will make things up. And I think it is not my forgiveness you should be asking for, nor it is mine to give anyway. I love my father, and I love you too, and it is not fair the both of you ask me to choose between the both of you. If you want me, Paul, you will have to at least stay out of my father's way and be cordial to him."
"You are one bad son," Paul said, grinning now.
"No, just a son fed-up with his father and you trying to force him to make decisions he doesn't want to make. I want you. I was even prepared to conduct a secret liaison with you, before he told me how wrong he was and how sorry he was that he was a lousy father. And you will -- oooomph!"
Paul shut him up with a kiss.
Paul Walker and Daniel West settled things the old way. Daniel waved his hockey stick and Paul used his fists, and in the end, both men declared a truce after a bloodied eye and a broken nose. Daniel was fitter than Paul expected. They never told Shane or his mother though. And Paul started the process of selling off the company. He would keep ten percent like he'd told Daniel, the rest of the money he would hand to Daniel.
Tonight was the perfect night for romance. No one did romance better than Paul William Walker. A clear moonlit night on the late night palazzo, a CD player playing Springsteen's ballads, and the cool but comfortable night air -- it was as if nature had conspired with Paul Walker to sweep Shane West off his feet.
With a gasp, Paul shuddered, his sweat-steamed back arching as he gave one last thrust into Shane's newly breached anus, his semen searing the man's hitherto virginal insides to burn Shane's sore flesh. Shane moaned softly, his hips tightening around Shane's torso as Paul penetrated deeper, his inward thrust eased by the lubrication of his semen combined with Shane's sultry mucosal juices.
"This is much better than I expected," Shane told his lover between gasps.
"I told you so," Paul said smugly. He placed his hand on Shane's chest and ran his fingers along the smooth chest playfully. "You know there is no escape now, Shane. I will never let you go, now that you are mine in every way that matters. I let you say no so many times throughout tonight."
"Don't be silly, Paul," Shane said. "You know I love you, right?"
No, he didn't. "You do?" he asked. "Shane, don't play with me, damn it."
"I do," Shane said, touching the man's lips with his fingers. "Paul, I wouldn't be here if I don't love you."
"I don't know what to say. I always thought only my parents could love me, and even then, that's because I'm their son and I'm their responsibility, you know?" Paul was babbling for the first time in his life, and he didn't care. He was stunned and pleased, more pleased at this moment than any other time he could remember. "You love me, truly?"
"Yes, yes, yes." Shane caught a stray tear from Paul's eyes. "It's not so bad."
"No it's not," Paul agreed. "Will it ruin the mood if I fuck you again? You can be on top this time."
Shane was about to answer when the sound of Paul's cell phone ringing shattered the silence of the bedroom. And Shane had to laugh when he saw Paul's face. "Go on, answer it. Just don't take too long," he finally said.
Paul winced as he withdrew his still hard cock reluctantly from Shane's tight and warm anal sheath, and roared into the phone -- "What?!!" His face softened, then broke into a grin of jubilance seconds later, however.
"What is it?" Shane asked when Paul disconnected the phone and flung it out the window.
"Mark agreed to invest ten million dollars after all. That boyfriend of his that was taking the engineering course decided to switch to petrochemical engineering a week ago, and Mark decided maybe saving the seals weren't as fun as better fuel for the new sports car he'd just bought."
Shane grinned and reached out his hand. "Come here."
Paul gave a playful growl and came to Shane.