Thanks to Maverick, Rikki, and Rowan, for beta and pep talks and just generally being awesome chicks.
"I want to feel you come in my mouth -- I want to feel your hot come shooting down the back of my throat while I hold you against the wall with my fingers fucking your ass, nice and slow..."
At first, I say this to Toby mainly for the sheer pleasure of watching his face flush; apparently, no one really ever talked dirty to him before I came along. So I lean in and pin him against the bunk and whisper in his ear, and then I lean back and just watch him turn different shades of red.
We've been in lockdown about a week now. Shit, exactly a week. (Like we ain't counting?) Let's just say we're a little short of forms of entertainment here in the old pod. A man could lose his fucking mind, sitting in here all day every day, and the only thing that keeps me from flipping out and trying to smash the walls down with my bare hands is him. He's real good at calming me down, which kind of surprised me at first. For a long fucking time, it seemed like he specialized exclusively in busting my balls and chewing away at my sanity.
Not like he doesn't get pissed off about this lockdown shit, too. I got no doubt he'd love to kick back with his good pal Kareem and ponder the meaning of existence and all the wondrous delights Allah has in store for those who follow His glorious path into the afterlife...or, you know, whatever the fuck it is they talk about together. But I'm pretty good at making him forget his troubles when I put my mind to it. And I doubt it would come as a surprise to anyone that I put my mind to it a lot.
"I'm gonna swallow it all, Toby, every fucking drop -- God, I can't wait, it's gonna taste so fucking good...I've been waiting for it all day...you know how hard that's going to make me? Why don't you feel for yourself how hard it's making me even thinking about it..."
I grab his wrist and press his hand against my crotch. The red in his face gets a little brighter and deeper, and he sort of huffs and scrunches his eyebrows at me, trying to seem like he doesn't approve. Oh, GOD, I love it when he gets that look.
"Jesus, Chris, don't..." But it's not like he's exactly trying to get away or anything. In fact, he's kind of leaning in, and damned if his hand isn't moving against me, curious fingers touching the hard evidence of just how bad I want it.
"Yeah, Toby, oh yeah, feel that, feel how hard my cock is... So, you know what I'm going to do after I suck you off and swallow all that hot come? What do you think I might have in mind, with my dick this fucking hard? Use your imagination..."
Toby snorts like he's nervous, then looks outside the pod, I guess to see if anyone might be watching. The lights are still on, and they're going to stay that way for about another hour. Getting Toby hard while the lights are on is one of the greatest pleasures of my day.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and shrugs slowly. He moves his hand in faster and longer strokes against me, and gives me a lazy grin.
"I don't know...get out the chess board? I know how much you enjoy a good game of chess..."
Oh, so clever...you think you're soooooo clever...
I lean forward and growl in his ear. "Chess? No, Toby, not unless that's some kind of euphemism for me bending you over and shoving my rock-hard dick in your ass."
His hand stops moving, and he exhales real fast. He shuts his eyes, tight.
"Yeah, that's right Toby...I'm gonna fuck you so hard you'll feel it for the rest of the night, so when you're up in your bunk, away from me, you'll still feel me, you'll remember me pounding my cock into you, deeper and deeper...you'll remember me shooting, exploding into your body....God Toby, I'm gonna come so hard, right inside you..."
This is all making my dick get harder by the second, harder than fucking steel, screaming for Toby's hand to get moving again. It's a combination that never fails: thinking about how I'm going to fuck Toby...Toby...Toby...my Toby...how I'm going to make my beautiful Ivy League lawyer growl and pant and grunt like an animal, how fucking his perfect ass, being inside him, it's as close to heaven as I'm ever likely to get; breathing in his hair, his skin, which no matter how long we lie around sweating in this shithole never quite lose that smell like he just got out of the shower; feeling how his breath hits my neck while I'm whispering filth in his ear, the warm, wet air from his lungs touching me just the same way his fingers do, the way someone in love touches the person they... (he loves me he does I know he does)
"God, Toby, you always make me come so fucking hard...my whole body shakes...can you feel it? Can you feel it when that happens...?"
He nods, and I feel him swallow hard. "Yeah, I can always feel it..."
"Yeah..." I whisper back. My lips are touching his ear and I'm breathing into it, which drives him nuts, always. "How do you do that to me, Toby...how do you make me come like that?"
"I don't know," Toby says so quietly I can barely hear him. His hand, now nervous and paralyzed, is still glued to my crotch. I lean back to look at his face again. Deep, deep red, and he won't meet my eyes.
"You don't? You don't know? Because you're pretty goddamn good at it." Look at him, poor guy...he really doesn't know. He's got no idea what to say.
"Come on, Chris, I can't..." He finishes his sentence by shaking his head and looking at the floor. His hand has moved away from my crotch and is now balled into a tight fist at his side.
"It's OK," I whisper, and I run my finger across his lips. His eyes close again, and I lean forward to kiss him. I move close and press my erection against his, and he gasps and clutches my arms.
"Wait...someone's going to see..."
"Let 'em...I don't give a shit..." The hoarseness of my voice gives away the fact that this plan is starting to backfire, just a little. I'm losing control faster than he is. I begin to grind slowly against him. "They'll have to call every hack in the whole fucking prison if they want to take me away from you, Toby, and that might still not be enough. Do you understand?"
He nods quickly, his fingers digging into my biceps.
"You got no idea what I was willing to do for you, to make you mine, to make you belong to me...do you? You think I'm scared of some fucking hacks?" It's getting harder to talk, but I can't seem to shut up. My hand creeps up his shirt to flick his rigid nipple; his hips buck forward and he grunts like he's in pain.
"I would have done anything, Toby, anything..." Now he's moving too, rocking against me. His head bows until it's resting on my shoulder. For some reason, that gets me even hotter. "I watched you every night -- did you see me? Did you know I was standing there watching you in your pod, that my whole body was burning for you? Could you feel it from where you were? Could you feel how bad I needed to touch you?"
"Yes..." Toby's voice is shaky and kind of desperate. I know he loves hearing about that, even if he doesn't want to love it.
"Did you think about me in there, Toby? Did you think about me when you touched yourself? When you came in the middle of the night, alone in your pod, jerking yourself off, did you imagine I was on my knees sucking your cock? Did you imagine you were fucking my face and shooting in my mouth?"
He releases a deep breath and presses his forehead harder against my shoulder. "Jesus, Chris...yes..."
"Yeah, you knew I was watching you, every second, touching you with my eyes. You could feel me, just like I was there...I'll bet sometimes you weren't sure what you wanted to do about it -- if you wanted to hurt me, humiliate me, or throw me down and fuck me...or maybe what you really wanted was to do all that at the same time..."
Now he lifts his head from my shoulder and looks me in the eye, and I guess I've hit something, somewhere inside him where I didn't think I could get at it. I know there must have been nights, alone in his bunk with nothing but the revenge in his head and the aching in his broken limbs and a hard-on beneath the sheets, when he wanted to do to me everything Schillinger did to him...or maybe something even worse. And honestly, I can't say I wouldn't have deserved it -- everything he could dream up, and more.
His hands move up from my arms to my face, and he gently holds them against my cheeks as he looks at me. He wants me to understand how everything is different now. He pulls me to him and kisses me, using his mouth to open mine, probing me with his tongue, talking to me without saying words. I rub my cock against his in hard, slow strokes. I've almost run out of words, too.
I wrap my arms around his body, underneath his shirt, and breathe hot against his neck. "Come on, Toby...come...I want you to come for me...do it...do it...now..." I can feel all the eyes watching us, I know people are watching, and that's just fine with me, everything is fine, just fine, more than just fine, because Toby's arms are circling my neck and pulling me closer, and I wouldn't mind if the whole fucking world saw that, because they all need to know that he's mine now, he belongs to only me, he's never really belonged to anyone else, and I don't care what Said or Schillinger or whoever might have to say on the subject. And God...oh God...God fucking help anyone who would try to make Toby think otherwise...I swear it'll be their last act on this earth.
"Do it Toby do it do it come on I want you to come against me come on come on" and then it's easy, really, I know exactly what to do when he's this close, because in a matter of days I've figured everything out about what drives him crazy, I have near-perfect knowledge of how his body works and exactly which combinations of body- and mindfucking will send him screaming right over the edge...so I reach my hand around and rub his nipple with my thumb while I bite into his neck, and then he's making that noise I love so much and tensing and growling and coming, his arms squeezing me tight...the whole length of his body is trembling against the whole length of mine, and feeling his orgasm makes me come too, just like always. I convulse against him and manage not to make any noise, but I end up biting him so hard I almost draw blood.
I finally lean back and look at him, to see how he's holding up. This is way further than we usually go with the lights on, and I'm thinking he might be a little freaked. But no, he looks pretty relaxed -- happy even, smiling, all out of breath, rubbing at the place where I bit him. He looks down at our pants and shakes his head.
"I'm running out of clean clothes, Keller."
"Not my problem, Beecher. I like you better without 'em anyway."
He rolls his eyes as he starts to change his clothes, and I lean back against the bed to watch him before I do the same. Then I lay down in my bunk and keep watching him, while he brushes his teeth. Every few seconds, his eyes meet mine in the mirror, and I know it's to make sure I'm still looking. He probably doesn't even realize that's what he's doing. I think he kind of takes it for granted, after all these months -- this unchanging thing, my constant attention, my need to witness his rituals and routines, to be wrapped up in everything he does, no matter what else is going on. That's OK with me. Besides, right now there's nothing I'd rather be doing. All I really can do is lie here and wait for the lights to go out, and that's when I can start to make good on all my promises, every last one.