THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB Stanislav Written by Lady Poetess egiggles at moose-mail.com /~bbp Please do not reproduce on any website without permission. This story has no resemblance to anyone dead or alive. ONE Stanislav Ianevski regretted stepping into the club the moment his senses was hit by the loud music, the blinding lights, and the sight of the shaved twink in G-strings that barely contained the man's exceedingly large cock. He couldn't understand how people could stand being in such chaotic environment. He also felt uneasy when he saw those hungry looks he received from the men he moved past. Perhaps it was his body, muscular and hard from his gymnastic training that he still kept up long after he had left high school and college, attracted attention of other men in this gay strip club. Perhaps it was his square-jawed face that did the track. Stan didn't think that he was handsome when he looked into the mirror every morning as he shaved. In fact, his weaker opponents in the courtroom feared him when he had the solemn hard-eyed look on his face while the stronger ones treaded around him carefully when he did, because Stan was a hard and ruthless public defender. He fought harder than many of his colleagues to help people who couldn't afford lawyers that charged big bucks for service, perhaps because he was still an idealist inside that wanted to help the people of the country that took his immigrant Bulgarian parents in during the Cold War fallout. He was a very good lawyer, and sometimes, he thought he was a better lawyer than human being. Tonight, he stepped into this gay bar because he was lonely and hoped that he could somehow lose himself in the pleasures of meaningless sex most likely paid for with his money. The gay club scene never appealed to him, however, and he realized that he had made a mistake the moment he stepped in here. He couldn't stomach the thought of meaningless sex, especially if money were involved in the transaction, as it reminded him of his youth when he was trying desperately to survive the slums that were his home without sacrificing his sanity and principles. He hated being looked at as a diversion for other men. When he looked at the dancer on stage, he saw the hard lines on that man's face and wondered whether the man needed any legal protection from his pimp, his creditors, anyone. "Wow, it's the superhero himself! Prince Valiant in all his glory!" said a familiar voice that Stan disliked supremely. Stan cursed under his breath when he realized that he had came across the last person he'd want to meet in the last place he'd like to be in. Michael Copon had just secured the release of a rapist this morning. The rapist happened to be the son of a powerful businessman that funded the campaigns of several politicians in this country so despite several of the girls in his college coming forth to testify about this rapist's sadistic and cruel ways, he got off. Stan hated even remembering that case because he felt helpless, in a way. He wondered whether he could have made a difference if the case was his. Albert Sweeney was a mild-mannered man who was too tender as a district attorney to handle the case while Michael Copon was too much of a black-hearted soulless lawyer who would happily discredit the witnesses, painted them as sluts who asked to be raped, and used all means necessary to kill the case and set the rapist free to prey on other women. "You can't save everyone in this world, Stan," his law professor had told him the day he graduated, "and while I admire your drive and passion, I fear that you will one day be consumed totally by it." Margaret Shayne had chuckled in a bittersweet manner that day as she had tea with Stan to celebrate quietly his being in the top one percent in his Harvard law school. "You are, it seems to me, one of the last idealistic people who fought for the law because you believe in it. I was one like that. and that was why I preferred to teach," she said vaguely. "Be strong, Stan, and remember that sometimes you have to admit defeat. Defeat should only make you stronger and motivate you to fight harder." Yet, when he saw all those drug dealers, pimps, murderers, and worse returning to the streets everyday while the rich men who controlled them remained untouched by the law, Stan wondered how long he had to fight. And how much his heart had to bleed and whether one day he would finally be consumed totally by the fire in his soul. He felt so alone in his fight. In his bleakest moments of loneliness and despair, he would pray to whichever dark deity was listening to make him into someone like Michael who made a career out of following where the money was. Seeing Michael here, Stan was reminded just how much he needed to leave this place. He needed the peace and quiet of his barren and clean room where he could hide from the world in blessed solitude. Without a word to Michael, he pushed the man out of his way and made his way steadily to his exit. "You think you are too good to speak to me?" Michael yelled over the din of the music. "You think you are perfect because you slave for hours for a fucking measly paycheck? Fucking martyr Prince Valiant is too good to soil himself with the rest of us?" Stan stopped and turned around. His abrupt halt caused Michael to crash against his chest. Stan's arms reached up to steady the man. Without thinking, purely on instinct, Stan held Michael steady in his arms and found himself staring at Michael's eyes. In the dim light, Stan could still see that the man's eyes were red and bright. Michael was handsome, Stan as a healthy gay man could acknowledge that, but Stan had never been this close to Michael before and he realized now that his heart was vulnerable enough to beat faster as a reaction to Michael's elfin beauty. "What do you want?" he asked Michael, his voice rough with desire that he was trying very hard to squelch. Abruptly, Michael lowered his eyes as if he was scared to see what was in Stan's eyes. "I don't know," he whispered. He tried to break free from Stan's arms. "Let me go." Perversely, Stan realized that he didn't want to let go. His body ached to feel Michael's slim but muscular build pressed against his bulkier frame. And his lips burned to touch Michael's. Perhaps he was so lonely that even a man like Michael would do, Stan tried to reason with himself. He didn't need Michael. He could find someone else. "Where do you live?" Stan heard himself say. "I'll take you back. You seem drunk." "Does it matter to you? Fucking asshole, leave me alone." Stan couldn't turn his eyes away from Michael. The bleakness of his soul resonated in him as he saw in Michael's expression and eyes anguish and loneliness that mirrored his. It made him feel strangely elated, as if he realized now that he was no longer the only person who walked in his shadows alone. For this moment, it didn't matter that Michael was the person who stood for everything Stan didn't believe in. He was compelled to discover this aspect of Michael, as if by doing so he might find a brief moment of salvation from his painfully solitary existence. After all, he was only human to want to feel another human's touch, if only for tonight. TWO It was only hot coffee served with greasy and oily ham and eggs, but funny how it tasted like heaven. Stan sipped away at the bad coffee, tasting very little on his tongue as he watched Michael fidget in the seat across the table from Stan. Stan was content to let the silence stretch. The coffee was bad, the food was worse, the diner smelled of sweat of late night-shift employees trying to get some brief moment of calm before returning home to their mundane routine - but Stan felt more at calm here than he had ever felt in years. He had felt brief joy and even savage satisfaction when he won in the courtroom, of course, but it was a long time since he felt pleased with something he had accomplished for himself. It was a disconcerting realization. "I let a monster back on the streets today." Michael finally cut the ice and followed that with a weary sigh. Stan could acidly offer his congratulations but he wasn't petty in nature. "You are not happy with your victory?" "No," Michael admitted with blunt honesty that surprised Stan, considering how they didn't like each other. Stan realized that he had judged Michael since he first heard of Michael's reputation. Michael was a hotshot young lawyer who made a splash by leaving his father's law firm over some disagreement and moved on to become an associate in a rival law firm. Michael's ruthlessness, coupled with his intelligence and cunning, made him a force to be reckoned with despite his age. Stan heard of Michael because there were talks about Stan being Michael's equal in ability but opposite in principles: the angel against the devil, they said, although Stan had never clashed with Michael in the courtroom before. When they met the few times outside the courtroom, Stan found Michael rude and deliberately antagonistic. He made sure to avoid the man since their first encounter with each other that ended with Stan barely suppressing an urge to wipe the smirk off Michael's face with his fists. The taunting moniker "Prince Valiant" was started by Michael. Michael also made it clear that he saw Stan as nothing more than gutter material. Yet here they were, seated at the same table and drinking coffee together. Life could be odd. "My father was admitted into intensive care today. They told me that he was so furious when he heard that I had let that fucker out on the streets that his heart couldn't take it." Michael closed his eyes and shuddered visibly. "My sister was raped when she was only thirteen and the man who did it was never caught. I actually thought that I would hurt my old man where it would hurt the most by making sure that I let a rapist go free. oh God, what have I done?" Stan bit his lower lip, not sure whether he could ever say anything that would placate Michael. He was horrified at what Michael was telling him, yet at the same time he wanted to say something that would make Michael feel better. He didn't know what to say, unfortunately. "I was angry with my old man once," he finally said. "Yeah, but you aren't such a soulless bastard that you would hurt him in the worst way possible just to get back at him for some petty purpose," said Michael quietly. "Perhaps you can try to make amends," offered Stan. "My father is in intensive care," Michael said with anguish. "But when he comes out of it, you can be there for him." Stan lifted his cup to his lips. "I don't know what to say, I'm sorry. I'm not good at giving advice. Not legal ones, anyway." Michael chuckled at the weak joke. "How the hell did we end up talking here like this, in this place anyway?" "I don't know." "What were you doing in that club? Hoping to get smashed?" Stan shrugged. "I heard the entertainment is good." "Depends on how inebriated you are. I wanted to get drunk. Do you know that I found it impossible to get drunk because I was so pissed with myself?" "Why did you do it, Michael?" Stan realized that he needed to know the answer to this, so that he could find the missing piece to the puzzle that was Michael Copon. Michael didn't pretend to misunderstand Stan. "I wanted to get back at my father. We were never close; he always thought I was the useless son and I did my best to live up to his expectations. When my brother John died, he. I thought I hated him for telling me that I should have been the one who died, not John." "Oh, hell, Michael, I'm sorry." "Nah, he's just being himself. I wasn't responsible for John dying. Hell, I was partying away with my friends when that drunk driver ran down John. But it's okay. He was just being himself, my fucking father, and. I became a lawyer like John wanted to be, I worked my ass off, but did that make my father happy? No, I can never compare to his precious John. So I left his firm and did everything I could after that to piss him off. When I had to the opportunity to defend Morris, I knew I would drive my father crazy. I did, I drove him straight to the brink of death." Michael smashed his fist against the wall and didn't care when a trickle of blood began flowing from his wounded knuckles. So yeah, I wanted to get drunk but I couldn't, damn it." Stan couldn't help it. He took Michael's wounded hand and pressed his lips to the bleeding flesh. Michael flinched when Stan gently licked at the wound with his tongue before pressing his mouth over the hand and tenderly lapped up the blood. His lips were redder than usual with the blood from Michael's wound when he lifted them to touch Michael's lips. He kissed Michael still when Michael climaxed in his arms in the darkness of Michael's bedroom later that night, drinking in Michael's moans of pleasure as Stan drove his throbbing cock deeper into Michael's convulsing anus in rapid and savage thrusts. He only broke the kiss when he realized that he needed to see Michael's face when Michael was coming. When Michael came, his eyes were tightly shut until Stan kissed his eyelids, and when Michael opened them to gaze into Stan's eyes in wonder, Stan saw eyes so dark with pleasure that they were so black. Stan saw his face reflected in those depths, and he could barely recognize his own face. He looked feral, yet he looked alive. His breathing was harsh and his heart was beating so hard and fast that he couldn't remember when he last felt his body hum with life this vibrantly. And then his buttocks clenched as pleasure pooled at the base of his spine, and with a harsh cry, he ejaculated into Michael with an intensity that drained him completely. THREE It was a one night stand. Stan reminded himself that sanity should return when daylight arrived and he would accept and understand that it was only a one night stand he had with Michael Copon. But as he looked at his own reflection in the mirror, Stan saw what he always saw: a calm, expressionless man with no human emotion to mar the smooth fa‡ade. He closed his eyes, remembering how his heart nearly exploded when he fucked Michael, and bit back a growl in his throat when he realized just how much he hated that face that was looking back at him in the mirror. Michael had broken Stan's defenses and now Stan had no idea how to control his emotions and resumed living the way he used to. He grabbed for his phone and nearly ripped open his pocket when he reached for it. "I want Michael Copon's direct number," he said to the office secretary when she picked up his call. "He's with Hutchinson and Markham." When he had the number a few minutes later, he spoke the moment Michael picked up the line. "It's Stan here. I am waiting at the gent's room in the courthouse. Come to me now. I want to fuck you." Michael hesitated for a second. Stan wanted to howl in frustration. "I'll be there. Wait for me," Michael said. That was how their affair began. Whenever Michael and Stan were at the courthouse, which was nearly every day, they would arrange for meetings during lunch at a nearby hotel. Sometimes, after a brutal case where Stan needed to find an outlet to release his frustrations, he would pump away into the tight luscious hole while gripping Michael's taut bubble butt cheeks until he was feeling more at peace. He would then kiss Michael and apologized for his roughness, making it up to the man by fucking the man, this time tenderly. Michael would do the same, and Stan fast learned that Michael was a versatile lover, an aggressive bottom and a responsive bottom, as they explored each other's body throughout the next few weeks until they knew how the other person would physically respond to their touch, tongue, cock. They could understand what the other person was feeling when the other person hadn't spoken aloud. It scared Stan sometimes when he realized just how easy it was for him to accompany Michael to visit his father. Quietly, he could only watch, feeling helpless at not knowing how to erase Michael's pain with a wave of his hand, as Michael sat down and watched his father who was in a coma. Sometimes Michael would wipe away at helpless tears falling down his cheeks until Stan let his fingers take over. It scared Stan more when he held Michael tight in those nights when they were both too worn out from work to have sex. They would live in Michael's room or his, where they were alone and nothing in the world could disturb them in their intimacy. Stan believed that he was falling in love with Michael during those moments. "You've ever heard of McDermott, Germann, and Associates?" asked Michael one day as they had lunch together, a month into their affair. "Yeah," answered Stan. "A rather interesting firm, ran by our people, I believe." "Alberta Watson from that firm is suing Morris on behalf of the three women he raped. I know I'm killing my own career by doing this, but I am going to tell Alberta everything I know about Morris. I don't care if I will never be a lawyer again. I didn't care to be one anyway." Michael smiled at Stan with a bravado that Stan suspected was false. "And if I am no longer a lawyer, you don't have to worry about your colleagues whispering behind your back about me." Stan never cared about those innuendos and gossips about him sleeping with the enemy and they never bothered him. He and Michael had no conflict of interests by sleeping together and that was all that really mattered at the end of the day. He never hid his affair with Michael. In fact, he openly called up a florist before his secretary one morning to have some flowers sent to Michael on a whim. If people didn't understand what he saw in Michael, well, they had no business to care about what he did with Michael in the bedroom. "I am not ashamed of you," he told Michael. "I can't say I'm happy with what you did in the past but you're trying to do the right thing now and that makes me." He bit his tongue when he realized that he almost told Michael that he loved Michael. "I am not ashamed of you," he said instead. "You can say you love me," Michael said, catching Stan off- guard. Michael gave Stan a bright smile, a genuine one. "I think I fell in love with you when we first had coffee together that night and you tried to lift me up even when I'm supposed to be your enemy." "I love you," said Stan. There, he'd said it, and those words caused his spirit to soar high with lightness. He could get used to telling Michael every day that he loved that man, he learned. "Sorry for not saying it earlier," he tried to explain. "I thought you would laugh at me because you seemed too cynical for love." "I am learning to be less cynical from you," Michael told him. "If they don't suspend my license and kick my ass, you think I can be a public defender like you?" "I can't see you in that role," said Stan with a smile. "Legal Services would be too uneventful for you and the office space is small. But you can try." And because he was learning to enjoy doing it, he told Michael one more time that he loved that man before lifting the man's hand to his lips. Alberta Watson might be a stickler for the rules but she didn't mind bending them when she had to in order to maintain a greater good. It was a lesson she learned from watching her colleague Simon Baker in action. While she didn't approve of everything Simon did, she reluctantly admired Simon's ease with breaking rules when he had to in order to see justice done. The law was blind and often fucked-up, Simon always said, and if he had to break a rule to make sure that the good guys win in the end, he would do it. She decided to apply Simon's philosophy in order to see that bastard Morris pay for what he did to those women. She therefore accepted the information Michael Copon offered her about Morris. The fact that Michael broke the foremost rule all lawyers should adhere to was their secret. Michael was never implicated in any way when Morris was finally given his just desserts three months after Michael Copon helped him walk free from the law. Perhaps some people suspected something when Michael Copon became the newest addition to that law firm later that year, but no one bothered to say anything as Morris was a fucking bastard who deserved to rot in hell. Stan remained at Legal Services, content with his job, and he could only be there for Michael as the man finally blossomed for the first time when he finally became a lawyer for the right reasons instead of being one just to antagonize his father. Michael's father died two weeks after Morris was incarcerated and Stan held Michael as Michael bravely stood before the other Copons' condemnation as Michael paid his last respects to his father. Michael accepted his estrangement from his family as the pay he should pay for his sins and he would never forgive himself for his father's passing, but Stan was trying his best to mend the relationship between his lover and the other Copons. Michael's mother liked Stan, which was a start and Stan hoped that he could use that to get her to forgive Michael. Perhaps then Michael would start to forgive himself. "Take care of him, Stan," she told Stan the last time Stan called her. Stan called her every weekend since they met at the funeral. Stan enjoyed learning more about Michael's family - which was his, as well, by default since Michael had moved in with him and replaced Stan's somber and basic furniture with flashier ones that were to Michael's taste - and he suspected that she enjoyed having someone to talk to. "Michael isn't as strong as he imagines himself to be and he needs someone to support and believe in him. His father was never that person," said the woman who understood and regretted the relationship between Michael and his father more than most people in the world. "He will need you more than the both of you believe." "I will," promised Stan. "How is he?" How was Michael? Good, Stan supposed. Michael Copon enjoyed his work, he laughed more often, and sometimes when he was overcome by the bleakness in his soul, Stan was there for him the way Michael was there when Stan needed him to remind Stan of his direction in life. "He's fine," Stan told Michael's mother. "In fact, we're both fine. We'll be okay."