THE GENTLEMEN'S CLUB
Noah

Written by Lady Poetess
egiggles at moose-mail.com
http://www.asstr.org/~bbp

Please do not reproduce on any website without permission. This
story has no resemblance to anyone dead or alive.

PROLOGUE

He hated having to kill someone at the early morning hour. The man
staggered slightly, looking at the body on the floor. Blood, he
thought - Birkoff was actually bleeding.

Tonight, Noah Strausser Speer Wyle had shot the very man he had
considered the only one in this fucked-up world he could trust.
Matthew "Birkoff" Ferguson lay silent, except for his silent,
painful attempts to breathe. At that moment, Birkoff coughed
painfully, and his right hand clawed weakly into the rug before
returning to its initial flaccidity.

Whatever control Noah had snapped at that sight of Birkoff trying
to live. Birkoff was slime - he never gave up in his attempts to
survive even if he had to lie, beguile, and hurt everyone around
him in the process. And Noah had thought he was invulnerable to
Birkoff's habitual perfidy, until tonight, when he finally
confronted the irrefutable proof that his comrade and fellow
partner-in-crime was systematically planning his downfall.

"Why, Birkoff? I would have given you everything I have," Noah
asked then.

"I know. I hate you... for that," Birkoff said weakly.

At that moment sirens broke the night. Noah knew he had to go.
Yet, he couldn't resist one last look at Birkoff - his other half,
his soul - before he walked out the door, a dead man in all but
name.




ONE

Five years later

"Bingo! Voila! Eureka!" Enrique Martin Morales - Ricky to everyone
who knew him - cried, breaking the silence of his office. "Solved
this stupid bugger!"

His employer and immediate superior, Noah Wyle, CEO of Courtetron
Securities, stood immobile behind Ricky's seat. So silent was he
that Ricky looked up, puzzled. "What? I've spent sixteen hours
cracking this firewall, at least be happy for me, will you Boss?"

Noah only smiled grimly at the sight of the binary numbers all
over the monitor, incoherent patterns to all but those who knew
what to look for. "Birkoff," he said under his breath, and his
grin only widened without humor as he touched the monitor as if he
was touching a lover's cheek. "I've found you at last."

Birkoff was an urban legend among the few Courtetron staff
members. Ricky heard all about the stories when he joined this
firm three years ago. Matthew Ferguson, known as Birkoff for
reasons unknown, was a computer genius whose reputation was as
large as his infamous eccentricity. Or rather, Birkoff was an
agoraphobic bastard who clung to Noah like a barnacle. Both of
them started Courtetron from scratch and by all means, as thick as
thieves. Until one night five years ago Birkoff just disappeared.

Rumor had it that the cops suspected Noah, but couldn't come up
with anything. Birkoff had no medical records, no living relatives
(he had been scrubbing off Noah, living with the latter and his
foster family whenever he could), no criminal records, nothing
except the bare essentials that wouldn't help the cops much.

Whatever happened that night Birkoff left though, it left Noah a
changed man. Ricky had seen a photo on Noah's office, one he
glimpsed by accident, where a thinner, boyish Noah had grinned
optimistically at the camera with a sullen, shaven-headed boyishly
round-faced man in his arms. The Noah now standing beside Ricky
was heavier, coarser in his looks, and while he smiled and was as
friendly as ever, it was as if something had ripped open in Noah.

Noah boxed six nights a week, and it showed in his noticeably
heavier musculature, but what was evident was the barely-
suppressed violence than hummed from Noah's very being. Only a
very observant man would have noticed this, of course, and Ricky
was very observant. He suspected Noah was like this all along,
reptilian cold, and it was with Birkoff's absence than the man was
finding it increasingly difficult to hide his emotionless core
from his acquaintances.

"Boss, what is it?" Ricky asked quietly. "What's this to do with
Birkoff?"

Saying that name aloud was almost like an act of blasphemy,
judging from the chill in Noah's voice. "See that? The
fingerprints all over this program are Birkoff's. I would
recognize his handiwork anywhere."

Noah looked almost pleased, an odd reaction if you discovered that
a traitor who had betrayed you was working for a rival.

"Let me get this straight. You knew all along whose handiwork is
this, and you made me spend sixteen hours on it even before I
recovered from my jet lag?" Ricky asked incredulously.

"I'm paying you eighty thousand bucks a year," Noah said
reasonably. "So what the fuck are you complaining about? This of
this as making my money worth."

Ricky sighed. "I'm going home."

"So go."

Ricky got out of his chair - damn, his legs were wobbly after so
long a period of inactivity - and was reaching for his jacket when
his cell phone rang. At the same time Noah's cell phone came to
life as well.

"Yeah, Brian," Ricky said to the phone. "Jesus," he said, seeing
his surprise reflected in Noah's face as the latter answered his
call (so, at least Noah could feel something, Ricky noted
absently).

"Come on, I'll drive you to the hospital," Noah told Ricky after
they both disconnected their calls.



Dr Linden Ashby hated nights like this. Sixteen non-stop emergency
cases had passed through his day in a painful blur and now this,
having to deal with yet another emergency case. He had almost lost
two lives and now, barely able to stand, he raced along the
corridor to surgery, pulling on his gloves.

"Jeremy, keep Marc from falling and stabbing himself on the
magazine rack," he ordered as he followed the attendants wheeling
a barely-hanging-on Brian Krause into surgery.

He hated this. He wanted to go home and sleep and wake up where
Sean would make him some nice hot waffles. But for Brian, he would
have to stay awake and alert one more time. Fucking hell, Brian
better send him some nice champagne after this.



"I shouldn't have drunk," Goran Visnjic said in wretched misery,
pressing at the bloodied bandage right above his left eye. "I
shouldn't have."

Marc Blucas, Brian's significant other, paid him no attention. He
hadn't uttered a single word throughout receiving his stitches,
and he only stared into space now. In shock probably, Noah
thought, standing silently in the corner. He was pretty surprised
at the lack of emotions in his own self. When his father died two
years ago, his lack of emotion he discounted as a fluke. Now, he
wasn't so sure anymore.

Had he really lost all capacity for emotions? Throughout his
childhood and later adolescence, he realized early that he seldom
felt what others around feel most of the time. Rarely happiness or
grief, it was always a mind-numbing void in his soul. He learned
early though that he had better pretend he feel the same as others
or he would never fit in. Hence he made it an art to pretend to be
the happiest man on earth if he needed to be one, or the grieving
son who had just lost his beloved father.

Oh, he loved his father. He loved Andrew, the first boy he fucked,
too, and he also loved his many siblings and friends. Only that
the love he felt was like a lukewarm simmer, three parts
indifference and two parts bewilderment at the fact that he
actually cared for them.

It scared him, this void in his soul. He was born with this, and
he would probably die feeling hollow, and the thought terrified
him.

But Birkoff was alive, and Noah knew now where to find him.

It was with Birkoff that Noah found his soul mate. Birkoff, frail
and weak, was equally ruthless and cold, and paradoxically his
coldness warmed Noah like nothing he had ever felt before. Like
he, Birkoff was a great pretender, putting on an affable mask and
making it an art to make people trust him - only to betray them
when he was backed against the wall.

Selfish, treacherous Birkoff who cared only for himself - what
would he say if he knew that Noah was planning to take their
relationship further that night when he shot Birkoff? He had a
feeling Birkoff would appreciate the joke.

"I have to go," he said to Jeremy.

"Go. I'll call you if anything comes up."

"He'll be okay?" Noah put on a concerned face as he nodded at
Marc, a concerned mien that was an exaggerated display of the
actual concern he felt. Oh, he cared for Marc, whose Boy Scout
idealism made him believe sometimes that the world was still a
fine place, but his cursed self refused to feel anything but mild
concern. No hysteria, no panic, nothing.

Fuck.

"He will be. I'll make sure he will be," Jeremy said simply.
"Don't want the world to lose its genuine last Boy Scout alive."

Noah grinned and shook his head. The Last Boy Scout. He wondered
what Birkoff would think of Marc.

"Come on, Goran," he said to the miserable man huddled at the
corner. Poor Goran, his lover was away on some business trip, and
Pierce was the only man who could stand Goran for more than ten
minutes. "I'll drive you home."



TWO

Birkoff lived in a small apartment (if one could call it that) in
one of the poorest districts in the area. Noah had to choke the
information out of Jim, the human resource officer of the rival
company Hijack - he would probably be sued for Jim by next week.

In his mind he had imagined scenes of this very moment. He would
have liked Birkoff to go down on his knees and beg Noah to spare
his life. Somehow things would get shady here and Birkoff would
end up with his head between Noah's thighs, lustily sucking his
penis. Even now, Noah's blood was humming at that possible
scenario. Maybe he would just push Birkoff down and unzip his
pants first, to hell with talk.

His cock was hard, not surprising, as he had always been sexually
attracted to Birkoff. When he knocked on the door and Birkoff
answered warily fifteen minutes later, he was tempted to risk fate
with his hands curled into fists to do just that - push Birkoff
down on his knees and order that man to fellate him.

But the sight of Birkoff threw him off. He had forgotten, how
could he forget? The same round baby face, the beautiful crew cut
that always gave Noah a reason to run his hand over Birkoff's
head, those cold, cold eyes hidden always behind those dark-tinted
glasses (Birkoff's sole concession to luxury)... Noah felt his
heart break.

"Noah," Birkoff said.

Then he made to slam the door shut. Noah anticipated the movie,
however, pushing his hand into the way. He didn't even feel the
pain or hear the painful crack of his fingers jammed in the
forcefully slammed shut door. Not when he was hurting in
unbearable agony inside.

"Please, don't."

"The pathetic look don't work with me," Noah said, somewhat
surprised he could still speak above the thundering of his heart.
Every sense of his was humming, focused on nothing but Birkoff
alone. It was crazy, but he felt at peace for the first time in
his life at this very moment.

"What do you want?" Birkoff asked, a tremor in his voice.

"My friend was admitted to intensive care tonight. I don't know if
he will die or live."

Birkoff jerked as if he was given a staggering blow in his gut.
"Why do you care?"

How he knew Noah so well. Noah grinned savagely. "I care, Birkoff.
I'm human too."

Birkoff shook his head, his expression sneering disbelief, but he
slowly, hesitantly pulled the door open wider. "Why are you here?"
he asked again.

"I just need to see you," Noah said honestly. "It's been a long
night." And a longer five years. "I don't think I can bear being
alone anymore." He looked at Birkoff's face. At the surface, the
young man seemed expressionless, emotionless as usual, but Noah
knew from the other man's faster rise and fall of his chest and
the way the man's fingers tightened around the door - Noah knew
Birkoff understood.

"You tried to kill me. You would have left me for dead if the cops
didn't come."

"You are about to sell me out. You will ruin me and everything I
have."

Birkoff had the decency to look away at least. Noah pushed the
door completely open wide and walked into Birkoff's sanctuary,
noting in satisfaction Birkoff's stepping back in fear. "That's
not why I shot you," he told the man as he threw off his jacket.
Birkoff didn't ask, but Noah continued nonetheless. "I trusted
you, Birkoff, and I would have given you the world if you would
only ask."

"And that is why I wanted you out of my life," Birkoff said
finally. "Your price is too much for me."

"Is it?"

"I saw the bottle of expensive champagne that night, and the look
in your eyes. You want me, you always have, and damn it, and I
know you would want me to spread my legs for you. And I would say
yes, fuck it, because I couldn't say no to you." Birkoff took a
long, heaving breath. "I am always so weak. Fuck, I'm so tired."

"I know," Noah said quietly. "I know."

Birkoff looked at Noah with pain in his eyes. "You want to fuck me
still?"

Yes. "We are right for each other," Noah said simply.

Birkoff fell heavily onto his chair. "Two stone-cold reptiles
pretending to be human, like you always say."

His resignation often mirrored Noah's as the latter look in the
mirror every morning. Now, Noah only said, "You say it as if it's
such a bad thing." Funny, his own cold anguish felt trivial at
this moment. Maybe not funny, as he knew long ago the key to his
salvation. "Did you ever miss me all these years?"

"I tried to ruin you."

"I tried to kill you." Noah shrugged. "You should know more than
most, Birkoff, that your betrayal means nothing to me. Not after
what I did to you in payback."

Birkoff cursed and turned away. "Get out."

Noah only placed his hands at each side of the armrest and lowered
his face until his lips were inches away from Birkoff's dry lips.
"You sure?" he asked, and grazed his lips across Birkoff's,
letting the tip of his tongue run slowly along the curves of
Birkoff's lower lip, moistening it. He felt the man shiver despite
himself, and let his tongue tease the man's lips, tracing the
man's lips with his tongue, letting his fingers run along
Birkoff's neck, tracing the gentle curve, and along the man's
shoulder blades. "We can stop feeling like ghosts tonight."

"Damn you," Birkoff said again, choking in his weakness. But the
lull of forgetfulness from the bleak cold loneliness and the
perpetual fear of wide, open spaces and loss of safe shelter was a
siren call. He found himself in Noah's arms, his own tongue
sinuously rubbing and tasting Noah's, and his own hands found life
of their own, running and touching until his senses burned at the
contact with Noah's bare skin.

Tonight, just tonight.

Noah's triumph was reflected savagely in his grin and in the gleam
of his dark brown eyes. Then he lowered his head and Birkoff felt
the man's tongue on his nipple - how did his shirt get opened? -
Birkoff closed his eyes as unwanted memories wash over him.

Noah, his savior, his one friend, who risked his own hide to stop
Birkoff from being trashed by some bullies when they were in
another life. Eight-year old Birkoff had thought the sixteen-year
old boy a god, and even now, when he still resented deeply Noah's
hold over him, he couldn't forget Noah's saving him, sheltering
him, and - fuck, Noah knew him too well and Birkoff never had to
pretend in his presence.

Hence, resentment, anger, and hatred at this man whom he relied so
much for strength warred with love, yes, love, fuck it, love for
this man whom Birkoff knew was probably the only man in this world
who could come close to loving him back. Yet, yet, now, as Noah's
lips and tongue teased every inch of his skin, he didn't know
where top ended and bottom began.

"Oh Noah, please..." Please what? Stop? Don't stop? He didn't
know.

The pain of penetration was like a rude ripping shock through his
being. He cried as Noah's cock forged through his anal passage,
tearing him open in a way he hadn't felt in too long. And Noah was
there, as always when Birkoff was in pain, his lips comforting him
and his shaky tenor reassuring Birkoff that the world was safe,
and everything was okay.

Something shattered in Birkoff at that moment. Warmth, unfamiliar
bursts of warm heat suffused through every inch of his body and
maybe soul too, and Birkoff thought this was paradise, this nexus
of ephemeral sensations. And ironically - or maybe not - he burst
into tears, broken harsh sobs that seemed to come from the very
soul he never even knew he had.



THREE

Noah didn't fuck him. He couldn't. He looked at the weeping
Birkoff helplessly, his fast wilting cock still embedded deep in
Birkoff, as strange and frightening feelings wash over him. In the
end, he just held the man, letting Birkoff's tears rain on his
shirt like drops from a baptism.

"Don't cry," he said awkwardly, a stranger to tender moments and
unable to pretend sympathy now. Not now when his nerves were raw.
All lust had left him, to be supplanted by an even more terrifying
emotion - he didn't know what it was, but he suspected its nature.

"I'm not crying," Birkoff said in harsh heaves.

"Breathe steady," Noah said, finally lifting Birkoff into his
arms. "I won't drop you," he said when Birkoff started to protest.

"I know, and I hated you for it."

"Do you still?" Noah asked gently.

"I don't know, fuck you!"

Noah grinned, this time a real grin. Trust Birkoff to understand
that Noah was experiencing this strange confusion, and trust
Birkoff to share the feeling with him. How could there be another
man like Birkoff, who was Noah's other half. Together, they made a
complete person where they were only a hollow shell alone. Noah
knew that now, and he wasn't sure if he liked this implication of
weakness on his part. But ah, Birkoff was in this with him. Could
anyone blame him for grinning like this?

He looked around for Birkoff's bed, but saw only a worn mattress,
and sighed. Birkoff, dear Birkoff, never threw anything away if he
could help it, and Noah always had to be the one to throw away old
junk when they lived together. Here, alone, Birkoff let everything
from newspapers to magazines to old pizza boxes to pile up like a
junkyard. The only sign that this hovel was being lived in was the
(relatively) organized computer desktop and the remnants of dinner
around the mattress.

"You need someone to take care of you," Noah said in a tenderness
that surprised even he. Moisture on his cheeks staggered him - he
was actually crying. Not in grief though.

Birkoff only sighed softly, and Noah looked down, bemused when he
found the man already asleep. Birkoff was thin and tightly muscled
(had he kept up his running regime that Noah introduced him to?)
but he was barely a burden in Noah's arms. Still, Noah gently
placed Birkoff on that smelly, rotten mattress, and watched as
Birkoff instinctively curled into a fetal huddle.

Birkoff against the world, wary, weak, and tired. Noah had seen
him charm teachers that caught him cheating - Matthew Ferguson
looked so innocent, he couldn't cheat! - and bedazzled bullies and
laughing peers into tolerating him by playing the fool. While Noah
preferred the solitude of his library and computer, Birkoff wanted
to be accepted so desperately that he still bore scars from his
failure. At fifteen and already a computer prodigy, Birkoff
suffered one last public humiliation from his schoolmates, one he
never recovered from, and retreated from the world in a haze of
depression. It was Noah, who was halfway to seeing Birkoff as
another lost soul like he, who proposed to Birkoff that they rule
the world, starting with Courtetron. With their technical skills,
they could be on top at last.

What went wrong that time? Noah watched Birkoff sleep and rubbed
his own face wearily, cursing when his whiskers burned his palm.
Weariness washed over him, forcing him to acknowledge that he
hadn't slept in forty-one hours. Finally, he slept, but not before
telling himself that this time, he would do things right.



Sunlight on his skin gently roused Noah from his sleep. A
dreamless sleep, and a pleasant waking up - he could swear his
life was slowly turning into a schmaltzy greeting card moment.
Shit, what was the time? He needed to be at his office. Where the
fuck was he anyway - Birkoff, oh yes, Birkoff. He looked around
him - Jesus, this hovel looked worse in daylight - where the fuck
was Birkoff?

As if he heard Noah's mental outcry, Birkoff emerged from a door
half-hidden by a high stack of newspapers, showing signs of
freshly coming out of a shower. He saw Noah, and froze.

"Hi," Noah said.

"Hi. Are you going to go?"

"Yeah, I have to be at the office. First I have to go home and
clean up - fuck, it's a long drive." Noah stretched and winced as
his muscles protested.

"Okay." Birkoff tried to smile but failed. "Are you coming back?"

"That depends. You want me to come back?"

The brief moment of connecting with someone, no matter how brief,
was an euphoric luxury, and the promise of another moment,
impossible to turn down. "Okay," Birkoff said with deceptive
nonchalance - inside, he was feeling as if he had just jumped off
a precipice with no parachutes. For a man who craved security and
status quo to the point of mad obsession, this was a deviant
behavior for him.

But for Noah, an insidious inner voice told him, maybe anything
was worth it.



"Don't die." Marc Blucas looked at the comatose man lying on the
bed. "You hear me, Brian? You can't die. I won't let you."

Noah stepped back from the doorway of the ward. Maybe he shouldn't
eavesdrop, but he couldn't help it - he was intrigued by Marc's
seemingly passionate ties to the man at the brink of death in the
bed. Even now, when the doctors were resigned, Marc was still
reluctant to accept their pronunciation.

"If you die -" Marc's voice began to break. He staggered, still
weak from his own injuries, and placed his hands against the
railings of the bed to steady himself. "If you die, I'll have to
follow you. Because I have no idea how to live a life without you.
Oh, I know, you'll tell me I'm being stupid, and I probably will
move on after you're gone, but damn it, I don't want to. I don't
think I can.

"Damn it, are you listening to me?" Marc's voice was breaking in
his pitched emotional state. "Fuck you, Brian, for doing this to
me. I love you, and I will definitely follow you if you leave me.
I can't sleep last night, Brian, because I can't accept a life
without you. Bleak, cold, and fucking lonely. I'll miss your
smile, your laugh, and your crazy optimism." He ran his shaking
hand along Brian's cheek. "Who will call me the last idiot Boy
Scout of New York? Maybe I can find someone else, but he will be a
pale shadow to you. I have loved you for eleven years, and I don't
just stop loving after that long a period.

"So what say you, Brian? Shall we make a deal? You die, I will
too, and I know how you hate seeing me hurt. So you better fucking
live, you understand me? Live, damn it, live!"

Marc closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Noah released
his and started to walk into the ward. But Marc's seeming calm was
deceptive, for the man then lost control and broke down.

Noah walked away then without another look back. Love - what a
joke, he thought savagely as he tossed the bouquet of flowers he'd
bought Brian into a wastebasket. Fuck love. He didn't want that.

Yet... yet he found himself willing to give his very soul for a
taste of what Marc had with Brian.



"Marry me."

Birkoff looked up from his computer, startled. "Can't you knock?"
he asked stupidly.

Noah had broken down his door with one mighty kick. Birkoff
started; he had never seen Noah in such an agitated state, a
genuine agitated state. Birkoff knew Noah well enough to know that
Noah was not faking this emotion, as much as Noah would know if
Birkoff was faking his.

"Marry me. Love me. Please." Noah got down on his knees at the
doorway, his face revealing his bewilderment and urgency.

"But -" Birkoff didn't know what to say. Love? He and Noah in
love? A stupefying, if not impossible thought. "You're crazy."

"Yes I am, but I am feeling much, much, fucking better than I ever
had in my life. Come on, Birkoff - say yes. We'll move into my
house, or I'll build you the house you want, and we'll do our
fucking best to behave like old married queens." Noah looked at
Birkoff with a stupid grin on his face. "Birkoff, trust me, this
may be the best mistake of our lives."

"Oprah said a relationship without trust is useless," Birkoff
said.

Noah stood up then and sighed as he dusted the knees of his pants.
"Okay, let's do this. I know you are one fucking treacherous
bastard when it comes to your enemies. Am I your enemy? Do you
still hate me for your codependency?"

"I -"

Noah pulled out a gun from the inside of his jacket.

"Noah!"

"The same gun I shot you with. Take it. Shoot me now. Or not. I
don't care. I think - I'm positively almost certain sure I love
you. I don't mind dying now, because you know why? These few days,
after seeing you, I am no longer a ghost. I feel! I'm human. I can
die without regrets now."

Birkoff looked at Noah's radiant face, and oh, bitter envy ate
him. He wanted what Noah was feeling.

"Take the gun," Noah said. A command now.

Birkoff took it, his hand shaking only slightly. He looked at it,
and without thinking, pointed it at Noah. It would be so easy to
pull the trigger, and he would be safe again. Back in the world so
bleak and cold, it seemed perpetual night in his life.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

Noah looked uncaring, only - damn that man - happy. How could such
an overused adjective have so much meaning when it came to Noah?

Birkoff sighed and his fingers slacked, the gun falling onto the
dirty carpet with a soft thud. "You're crazy. I can't do this.
Shit, I can't think." He ran his hands over his face, an exact
mirror to Noah's behavior when the latter was confused or
exhausted. "You think we can do this?"

"Why not? We have done everything else."

Noah had a point. Birkoff didn't have to answer that, for Noah had
already sensed his acceptance. He couldn't answer anyway, for
Noah's lips were already over his, and he could only let Noah's
tongue in.

Noah took him there and then. Birkoff could only push his pants
off before Noah was on him, his erection pushing up Birkoff's anus
even as they tore at each other's shirt. And this time they
actually had an orgasm - okay, three - before Birkoff could
finally say aloud, "Okay."



"Will he live?" Birkoff asked softly.

Noah looked at Brian, peaceful in his cursed repose, and Marc, as
always, sitting beside Brian. Only in his exhaustion, Marc was
asleep, with his upper body slumped forward to rest on Brian's
bed. Poor Marc - his lips were colorless and his boyishly earnest
face was sunken in his grief. It seemed almost cruel to feel so
high when someone else was dying inside from despair.

"I don't know," Noah answered back softly in a whisper. "The
doctors aren't holding out for much. Brain hemorrhage - Brian's in
a really bad shape."

Birkoff looked at Marc and Brian, at the way Marc's fingers were
entwined with Brian's unfeeling ones, as if Marc was so afraid to
let Brian loose for fear that the latter would slip away out of
his reach for good. When he placed his head on Noah's arm, Noah
pressed his fingers around Birkoff's arm reassuringly.

"I envy them," Birkoff said.

"Yeah I know."

"You think we'll ever be like that?"

Noah looked at the other man's eyes, hidden behind dark lenses,
yet all but hidden from him. "I don't know," he said honestly.
"But it's not impossible."

"Yeah." Birkoff smiled his rare smile then.

Together they left the room in silence.
