Background info:  For those of you new to the wrestling world, 
here's a rundown --

Steve Austin, nearing the height of his popularity was starting to
irritate Vince and more and more, so the older McMahon came 
up with a plan to take his top draw down a couple of notches.
Enter Shane McMahon.  Shane, pretending to be disgusted with
his father, goes to Stone Cold and fools him into believing that 
he has signed him to a new contract, after he had been fired by
Shane's father.  The two strike up a friendship, coming to each
other's "resuce" a couple of times, you would see them talking
here and there -- it was kinda cute <g>  But then...uh oh!  SS '98
rolls around, and when it just looks like Stone Cold is going to 
win the belt, Shane counts "1!  2! .... " no 3.  Instead, he flips him
the double bird and runs outta the ring back to where he and dad
celebrate pulling one over on ol'Stone Cold :(

I LOVE this storyline.  Mainly because it's the first time we see
the delectable Shane McMahon on RAW, in any sort of serious
role (his first and only prior roll was really just a bunch of "don't do
it dad"s) and because it was the first EVER McMahon Master
Plan.  Also because from a slasher's point of view, it's intriguing
that Steve "DTA" Austin believed young Shane so quickly.  I
know, I know...MARK, well...that's me <g>

Okay, phew - <g> - on with the story!!


=====================
Caught In A Lie
=====================



I never could say no to him.  Not when I was a 
little kid, not when I was a rebellious teenage 
punk, and not when I became an adult.  He's my 
father, how can I say no to my own father?  So 
when he asked me to help him screw over Stone 
Cold Steve Austin, I didn't have to think very 
long about my answer.

The plan had been simple:  Win his trust, mess 
with his mind a little, pretend to be on his 
side.  It was a deceitful, ugly thing to do to 
another human being, but that's Vince McMahon 
for you.  Some men think with their dick, my dad 
thinks with his ego.  Steve Austin had 
humiliated, upstaged, and insulted him for long 
enough, it was time for Vince to show the lowly 
wrestler just who the better man was.

So that's how it went for a few weeks.  It had 
been easier then I first thought it would be to 
win over the Rattlesnake's trust.  I guess I 
have a way of getting under people's skin.  My 
innocent face, my charming personality?  Fuck, 
whatever.  I'd accomplished my end of the deal.
So far, at least.

The Bossman thing came as a surprise to me.  
Vince had told me earlier in the day that he 
would "up the ante" that night on RAW, but I 
figured it'd be a little slap in the face or 
something.  Not that fucking, thick skulled,
ex-prison guard shoving a nightstick under my 
chin.  I was fuming, I was confused, I was 
scared shitless.  How far would Vince go?  I had 
no idea.  I think that was what scared me more 
then anything else, not knowing how far my own
father would go to get his revenge.

But I guess Vince knew something I didn't know, 
as usual.  Because while I was fully expecting 
to get my brains bashed in, Vince must of known 
all along that Steve would come to my rescue.  
At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

It was afterwards, in Steve's dressing room, 
that he decided to drop a bombshell on me.  

"I know you're hidin' something, kid."

I don't know if I kept a straight face or not, 
probably not because the look of confidence on 
his face tripled right in front of me.  I tried 
to deny it, but it didn't work.

"You've been acting weird for the past couple of 
days, like you're nervous or something.  Well, I 
just want you to know that I know what's going 
on and that I want to put a stop to it right 
now."  He moved forward, his blue eyes locked 
onto mine.  Steve Austin redefined the word 
'intensity', I couldn't breathe.	

But I could run, I could back away.  I found 
myself doing just that, stepping back and back 
until my legs hit the couch and I fell onto my 
ass.  "Look, Steve, I can explain..."  Shit, was
that _my_ voice?  

He leaned down, "Stop.  You don't have to 
explain, I understand."  His face was....blank.
Not angry, not hostile, not anything.

"You, uh, do?"  I sounded pathetic.  I wished he
would just pile drive me through the coffee 
table and be done with it already.

He nodded gravely; leaned in closer, propped up
a hand beside my head and seemed to...sniff...
me.  Weird, I know, but I _swear_ that's what he
did.  "Yeah."  He paused.  "You're gay, aren't 
you?"

It took me a good minute to compose myself 
enough to come up with an answer to that.  
"Huh?"  And it still wasn't very articulate.

"I see the way you look at me," he calmly 
explained.  "How jumpy you get.  Hell, the whole
reason for coming to me in the first place, I'm 
not BLIND, kid!"  He actually smiled a little 
then.  "You don't have to be nervous."

So there I was, caught between a rock, (or was 
that a stone?  Ha ha) and a hard place.  If I 
told him I didn't have some sort of weird crush 
on him as he seemed to believe, then he'd demand
to know what was really bothering me.  If I told 
him I _did_ have a crush, then ... well that 
would cause just a whole new set of problems, 
wouldn't it?

A question, odd in it's suddenness, did come to 
me though.  Just how far did Vince want me to go
to make Austin believe our lie?  How far did _I_
want to go?  And if it did go that far, then who
was lying to whom?

We stayed that way for a while, with him leaning 
in towards me, growing more and more obvious of 
his intentions with each passing moment, and me 
sitting there like a deer caught in headlights.  

"Okay.  You're right."  The words came out of 
me, and I didn't know where they came from.  
He's _right_?  What the _fuck_ was I thinking?!

Steve smiled, satisfied - happy even.  His hand 
touched my face and I...flinched.  Or maybe I 
shuddered.  It was such a big hand, such an 
intimate touch.  It made me nervous.  Wrestlers 
slap each other on the ass all the time, they 
grab personal, _erogenous_ zones for all sorts 
of wrestling holds, but the face...that's 
something different.  You only touch the face 
when you're REALLY serious.

"Would it make you feel better if I told you I 
felt the same way?"

No, actually, it wouldn't, I wanted to say.  But
of course I didn't.  I just sorta nodded.  
Stared at his bald head, his sweat, his chest.  
I could feel the heat radiating off his body, so
close, and I didn't know whether to be repulsed 
or something else.  Men weren't my thing.  I 
loved women.  And Steve Austin was about as far 
from being a woman as you could get.

Not that he wasn't good looking.  His muscles, 
his language - is deceptive.  It makes people 
blind to the soft curves of his face and lips, 
his eyes, and body.  He's not cold at all; he's 
far too hot.

The hand moves down my face, to my neck, he 
watches it travel and I think I'm losing my 
mind.  Scream?  Run?  Hit?  Fuck, I don't know.
I don't know _anything_.  His hand...it's a paw,
it's powerful, it's touching my chest and my 
waist.  It's working at the buttons of my shirt,
and before I can protest, before I can say 'no'
...he kisses me.

At first, I don't respond.  I can't.  I'm 
frozen, rigid in his grasp.  I can feel myself 
frowning at the utter strangeness of it, how 
it's both foreign and familiar at the same time.
A man's mouth and a woman's mouth aren't that 
different, but his goatee scratches my chin, 
and he's so _strong_.  Stronger then me.  He 
grips the back of my head, pushes me in harder 
against him, and I respond to his kiss.  Open my 
mouth and take in his tongue, repress shudders 
as he takes control of me, right in that very 
moment.  I'm fooling myself, I was never in 
control.

His hands squeeze my shoulders, I can tell he's
holding back and that thought too, makes me 
shudder.  I'm use to much smaller, much softer, 
I'm use to being the aggressor.  But now...it's 
all I can do not sink to my knees like some 
cheap whore on the street.  What's he doing to
me?  With a word, I can make him stop, but I'm 
stuck.  If I tell him to stop...will my cover be
blown?  Will weeks of work just go down the 
gutter?  How far am I willing to go?  

And that question again:  how far do I want this
to go?

When he straddles my lap, its nearly enough for 
me to put an end to it right there, but he's 
still kissing me, still groping down my chest 
and my arms, and pulling at my clothes.  He 
wants me naked, he probably wants me to make 
_him_ naked, and Jesus Christ...this - this is 
some heavy stuff we're getting into.  I feel 
like I'm a virgin again, fumbling and unsure in 
the back of my car, trying to act like I know 
what I'm doing.  His tongue pushes against mine,
he sucks at my mouth, and I can feel his, oh 
god, I can feel his cock pushing into my 
stomach.

"Steve..." I finally manage to get out as he 
breaks the kiss and chews at my neck, "...no...
don't..."

"It's all right, I won't hurt you."  I've never 
heard so much in his voice, but now it's all 
there.  The lust, the emotion, it reverberates 
against my throat, and his lips tickle as he 
talks.  He won't hurt me?  He's already hurting 
me...

My shirt is off and his mouth travels down my 
naked chest, I can hear moaning and I know it's 
me, but I try convince myself I have every 
right, that this doesn't change the me I was 
five minutes ago.  I don't like what he's doing 
to me, I don't like _men_, it's just -- a 
tongue.  It could be a woman's, it doesn't have 
to be _him_ making me feel this way.

I try to picture Claudia Shiffer, or Madonna, or
even that chick I saw in the blue corvette this 
morning, but every time his goatee scratches my 
nipples, or I feel his blunt, strong fingers 
massaging me all over...that image shatters. 
There is a deep, rumbling sound of pleasure 
coming from his lips, his tongue and mouth are
soft, but there's strength in his kisses.  All 
that's left is Stone Cold Steve Austin.  The 
man, who three weeks from now, I will betray.	

He unzips me.  Pulls off my pants and boxers in 
one swift move that leaves my legs trembling and
my hands clawing the cushions of the couch.  

I'm painfully hard.  I know what I want, I know 
what he's going to do, I want to cry, I think.  
I want to beg him to stop, beg him to take back 
the last few minutes and all the confusion that
comes with it.  Beg him to take me with his 
mouth.

All I can do is moan.

"God, you're..." his voice trails off.  His 
eyes, blue and clear and focused, bore into me.
He kisses me again, and I melt, I force him 
closer as I wrap my arms around massive 
shoulders, and tug uselessly at his shirt.

Jesus.

He pulls away, he kisses my stomach, his tongue 
swirling around in my navel, and biting at the 
sensitive flesh around it.  I feel his breath, 
and when I look down, I see his bald, clean 
scalp and swallow hard.  Claudia Shieffer, I am
thinking, would _not_ appreciate the comparison.

He swallows me in.

His mouth is hot, wet and I feel faintly the 
hard ridges of his teeth.  My cock rests on the 
pad of his tongue which is suddenly moving now, 
up and down my shaft, licking and tracing 
patterns along the skin of my cock.  His cheeks 
collapse as he starts to suck, his head bobs as 
he moves up and down over my crotch, and his 
fingers are digging very, very hard into my 
hips.  It scares me that he seems to be getting 
as off on the whole thing as I am. 

I'm thrusting hard into his mouth, moaning and 
gasping, and - oh help me - saying his name, 
over and over again.  My vision blackens, I 
can't see, only feel.  His hand grabs mine, and 
in a gesture perhaps more intimate then what 
he's doing to me with his mouth, we hold hands.
I squeeze back tightly, and he sucks harder.  I 
want to scream.  I think I do.  I come so hard, 
I black out for a moment.

When my eyes open, he's breathing hard next to 
me, his eyes are closed and his lips parted and 
wet.  Wet with me.  I smell myself on his 
breath, and am suddenly taken by an impulse so 
great I act without thinking.  

The kiss is salty, sexy, and I'm hard again.  
Austin's teeth graze my lips before he bites, 
then his tongue flicks to soothe the pain.  

"Shane...turn over."

It chills me, these words.  Makes me freeze
and clench my eyes shut.  He wants to fuck me, 
and I think - I think I want him to.

Grabbing the couch cushion behind me, he places 
it under my hips as I turn over and I hear his 
own zipper pull down and his pants get thrown 
across the room.  There's the rustling sound 
of a bag being opened and shut, and soon, he's 
behind me again.

Somewhere along the line, I've stopped believing 
my lie.  This isn't about Survivor Series, this 
is about us.  Him and me, right here.  

"Relax..." His voice rolls over me like fog, and
I'm coated in its reassuring tone and 
confidence, its gentle rolling calm both clouds 
and stuns my senses.  "You'll like it, I 
promise."

So he knows, he knows I've never done this 
before, but he also thought I was gay.  This 
makes me pause, makes me think.  Of what, I'm 
not sure, my brain is too muddled to form 
rational thought, it's as if I'm drunk or high, 
I'm riding a buzz as Austin's hands gently 
start to massage my shoulders.

He works my right side first, kneading the 
muscles and the skin, alternating his hands with
his mouth, licking and kissing.  He works on my 
left side.  Hands, mouth, tongue.  I'm going to 
pop out of my skin, I'm going to come again, and
Austin's going to have to fuck my corpse.

Touch disappears for a moment, and I groan in 
disappointment, shift my hips to feel more and I
feel his gentle chuckle behind me at my 
impatience.  Then, something cold and soft 
touches my ass, it smells like hand lotion, and 
I can't help but tense when he rubs it slow and 
hard between me.  I shiver, I ache, and when a 
single finger pushes into me I press my face 
into the couch seat.

Blind to everything, the feeling becomes more 
intense as he slowly finger fucks me with one, 
and then two of his meaty digits.  They rub 
something electric inside me, I'm so tight, and 
I'm clamping down hard around his fingers, 
writhing and thrusting my hips back to feel 
more.  I feel so full with him, he keeps hitting
that spot deep inside me and I'm groaning, 
begging...when he withdraws I cry out with my 
need.

I don't have to wait long, I feel him straddle 
my waist from behind, his knees brushing either 
side of my hips, and his breath is exhaled in 
short, abrupt heaves.  The tip of him is pushed 
in, and I whimper.  I want _more_, I need him so 
badly, but he won't fuck me, he's holding back, 
and I say his name as a plea, begging for it.

"Steve, fuck me, please, oh God..."

He's so hard and big, and when he thrusts inside
me it's as if he'll split me apart.  This is 
what was suppose to be Vince's plan for revenge?
Me, face down on a couch, and Austin giving it 
to me from behind?  If I had the breath, I'd 
laugh.

It hurts, he's so heavy on top of me, and so 
full inside of me, I can do anything but gasp 
and squirm underneath him.  He's saying 
something, but I don't understand.  He could be 
speaking a foreign language.  But when he 
starts to pull back then push inside me again, I 
understand.  

Our breathing is loud in the room as he fucks
me, his hips and my hips working together to get
him deeper inside me.  His hands roam all over 
my back, and he leans down to kiss the base of 
my neck.  A hand runs through my hair and all 
the time he's thrusting, pushing, and pounding 
me with his dick.

The room spins suddenly, as he picks me up and
deposits me on all fours, he kneels behind me
and pulls at my cock which is now no longer
trapped by cushions and fabric.

"Shane..."

My name's never been said like that, by a voice
like that, I think it's what makes me come.  
It's a shattering experience, I cry out his name
and I fall loosely in his grip as he comes
shortly after.  We both collapse on the couch 
and the weight of his body on mine is very....
nice.

He holds me to him, his chin resting on my
shoulder, our naked limbs entangled on the
small couch.  He kisses me, slow and deep and
I shudder, closing my eyes.  So, this is it,
this is what it's like to be with a man, to be
with Stone Cold Steve Austin.  I'd be lying if
I said I had never thought about it before 
now.  But I'd also be lying if I said I ever
thought of it seriously.

I wish I could say I never turned on him at
Survivor Series.  That after that night I went 
back to Vince and told him to take his goddamn 
plan and stick it up his ass, but I didn't.  I'm
a dutiful son.  When November rolled around, I 
did what I set out to do and betrayed Steve 
Austin.  We haven't talked since.  Unless you 
count the verbal, and sometimes physical,
assaults we inflict on each other.

Still, I can't help but think that we still 
share something.  I won't be poetic and call it 
a "bond", or be cheesy and call it "unrequited
love" (it was never about love).  There really 
are no words for it, I think.  No, it's more an 
act, a - if you'll excuse my verbage - a 
_thing_.  It was when he touched my face, when 
he held my hand, when he kissed the back of my 
neck.  When he told me he wouldn't hurt me - a
promise I could not keep with him.

It was when, for just a moment, we were 
together.



**end