~Who Favors Fire?~

He wasn't close enough to hear what was being said but he recognized the body language. So why was it a surprise when Chris swooped down to kiss Ronnie? Why did his stomach knot up, hurt and jealousy churning away as he watched Chris devour Ronnie? That dazed look in Ronnie's eyes as Chris came up for air - he knew that feeling, knew he had worn that very same stunned and dazzled expression. A couple of times he had even seen it in Chris' eyes, like that very last good time when he had kissed Chris' wound and his mouth, needing to reaffirm that connection between them. Needing to feel something that wasn't desperation and fear.

How had they lost that? How had it come to this, him standing there and watching Chris stake a claim on Ronnie Barlog?

Oh, yes, something about him accusing Chris of having his son murdered and trying to kill him.

Funny how that slipped his mind sometimes.

Toby sighed and set down the weights he was trying out, bitterly glad when Mineo came over and told Chris and Ronnie to knock it off. Like that would really be a deterrent if Chris had his sights set on Ronnie. Knowing it was just payback, that Ronnie didn't mean anything to Chris, should have made a difference.

It didn't.

Now, sure, they were using Ronnie to fuck with each other - but what if it turned into something else for Chris? What if Chris looked at low maintenance Ronnie, no issues and no baggage between them, and thought that would be a bargain? That idea had flitted through his own mind, after all. It was so much easier with Ronnie, no underlying tensions; no scent of danger ... no passion, no fire. There was something to be said for that, just a warm body in the night and nothing more invested.

And that's why he was eating Chris alive with his eyes, tracing every spectacular line of the most sinfully beautiful body he had ever seen, because empty sex was sooooo satisfying? God ... He licked his lips, starving for that body. Aching to just be near him again, to breathe in the smell of him. That had been his, all of it. He had held Chris in his arms and kissed his mouth, touched his body - possessed his body, been consumed in turn; he had looked into those blue eyes and known their every mood, known when Chris was horny, when he pleased with something ... when he was hurting, when he was too tired to keep up the faade and just wanted to rest in his arms and let it all go.

That had all been his - and he had thrown it all away.

It should have given him some sense of satisfaction, the knowledge beyond doubt that Ronnie would never have that. Ronnie might be allowed to touch the outer surface, what Chris let the whole wide world see; he would never have the rest of it, the idea would never even cross Ronnie's mind there was anything more. That only made Toby's belly knot up some more, aching for Chris, for the Chris only he had ever known.

He watched Ronnie get up from the bench and saunter off like a kid with a new toy, hating the dumb prick more with every step. And wasn't that a revelation?

Chris watched Ronnie for a moment and then turned to look right at Toby, his expression unreadable - almost, to anyone but Toby. He could hear the words, the challenge just as clearly as if Chris spoke out loud: "Whatcha gonna do now?"

Say something, asshole, he fiercely urged himself. Ludicrously struck speechless, though, he could only reply with a poker-faced look and watch Chris shake his head and reach for a towel. Words were his stock in trade -- why couldn't he find any when he needed them most? Why could he only stand there and watch Chris wipe himself down and toss the towel away, watch Chris shoot him one more look, expression truly undecipherable this time, before he finally walked away?

"You two are beyond fucked up, you know that?" O'Reily said, and Toby glanced at him and wondered when the Irishman had gotten there, wondered how long he had stood there and watched the show.

"Yeah, and you're Dear Abby?" he shot back, eyes locked on Chris, watching him get further and further away.

"I'll tell you this - if that was Gloria," O'Reily nodded at Chris, "you wouldn't see me standing here acting like a dick."

"It's complicated," Toby said, the idiot side of his brain still rationalizing and justifying.

"Yeah?" O'Reily shot him an ironic look as he retied a shoelace. "Falling in love in Oz is complicated? See, I never would have guessed that, Beecher."

Chris was almost out of sight. "Excuse me," Toby said, finally moving, going after Chris.

No, there was nothing easy about this. But wasn't that what made it worth it?

Why hadn't he known not to fall for that, let it lull him and make him drop his guard?

No worries that way with Ronnie. No anything with Ronnie. No getting lost in Ronnie's eyes, no believing Ronnie knew him like no one else ever could; no opening himself up to Ronnie and wanting Ronnie to have it all.

Better that way, though, it had to be. No more reaching for the brass ring, either. That wasn't meant for him, never had been.

"Chris?"

Fuck.

He didn't stop, didn't turn to look at him, just kept walking. "What?"

A hand touched his arm, fingers curling around his bicep. "Chris, I..." Faltering words trailing off in one of those huffs, the frustrated and baffled kind.

"What?" he snapped back, no patience for this, for how his body reacted to that touch, to his nearness.

"I want to say something. I..."

"Fucking say it," Chris growled, wanting to get away.

"If you would stop for a goddamn minute I would," Toby snapped right back.

Chris halted, turning to look at him, seeing the desperate light in those blue eyes. A light that made every nerve in Chris' body sizzle, not even about to guess what it heralded. There was never any knowing that, not with Toby. One time it might mean the best sex Chris had ever experienced. Another time it might mean a shank between his ribs. "So?" He looked at the hand still resting against his arm, those practical fingers idly tracing the outlines of his tattoo, that casual touch almost burning.

"Not here," Toby said, tugging at him.

Chris wasn't about to budge. "Beecher, what the fuck do you--"

He didn't get the chance to finish. He was dragged inside a storage closet, the hack oblivious to it all. He was pushed up against the closed door before he could even open his mouth again. He was held there, pinned there, as Toby moved in and kissed him, kissed his face, kissed his jaw, kissed his mouth, kissed him long and slow and deep. He still couldn't move as Toby's hands shifted their grip, one cradling the back of his head, the other cupped around the nape of his neck, the kiss going on and on, Toby moving off for a split second and coming back for more. Toby kissing him soft, kissing him tender, turning it up, making it hungry.

"Does," Toby panted, moving off at last to suck in air, to burrow his face against Chris' neck, "does Ronnie taste like that?"

No, nobody did, never. He rubbed his face against Toby's hair. He threaded his fingers through it and tugged, bringing Toby back to his mouth. "Why are you doing this?" he murmured against those lips, those sweet, hot lips he ached for every night, hearing the pain and the doubt in his own voice.

Toby drew back to look at him, both hands framing his face, such a serious and earnest look on his face. "Because I have to."

"You have to fuck me up?"

Toby smiled, sad, hurting. "No. I have to love you. Chris," he ran a hand over Chris' head, "I'm dead inside without you. So are you." He came in for another kiss, the softest of all.

And dead was safe, but... But Chris didn't want safe, he didn't want easy. Chris wanted the fire.

"Yes," he whispered back, kissing Toby's mouth, feeling that fire licking at him, scorching them both, hotter than hellfire. "Yes," he breathed again, hands digging into Toby's hair as they kissed, reveling in that touch of lips and tongue, in the slide of Toby's sinewy body against him.

When Toby dragged his wifebeater off him and dropped it to the floor, Chris retaliated by tugging that ratty, olive green t-shirt over Toby's hair and smoothing a hand back through his ruffled hair. Fingers buried in that hair, he drew Toby's face close again for another long, long kiss as their arms wrapped around each other, holding each other close and tight. Damn -- it felt so good, always so fucking good to be held in Toby's arms again, to be so near that he could taste and smell him and feel all of the smooth, hard heat of him. Chris hugged him tighter, reveling in the passionate embrace, wanting to drown in Toby all over again.

But ... he needed to know something first and drew back to look at Toby, hands stroking over broad, strong shoulders and along those gorgeous collarbones. "Is this just because of Ronnie, 'cause you're jealous?" Not that he wouldn't still take it; he knew he would - whatever Toby wanted to give him, he would always take it. That what scared him crazy sometimes.

"Yes...no," Toby confessed, also touching, blunt fingers skimming over Chris' pecs and ribs, playing with his nipples. "Do I want you laying a finger on him, on anybody that isn't me?" he went on, voice dropped low, hot as his eyes, hands roaming over Chris' back and ass now. "Do I want him, anyone, to so much as breathe on you, Keller?"

"I gotta guess the answer, Toby?" Chris groaned and shivered, arching into Toby as those fucking brilliant fingers worked under the waistband of his pants and splayed over one ass cheek, squeezing.

The other hand ran up his back, curving around the nape of his neck and holding him still as Toby swooped in to kiss his mouth, to fucking devour his mouth, like kissing Chris was something he needed to sustain his life. "That..." Toby came up gasping for air, "that tell you anything?"

Arms looped around those shoulders, one hand buried in golden silk again, Chris murmured, "Tell me some more," against Toby's lips, not caring if they spontaneously combusted with the heat they were generating. Not caring about anything except how alive he felt in Toby's arm, every sense soaked with Toby.

"I love you," Toby whispered against his skin, tongue darting out to taste him, rolling that taste in his mouth like he was some kind of connoisseur of Keller. "Chris, I love you. I..." He hesitated a moment, drawing back enough to look into Chris' face, so sad and serious, "I'm so sorry I ever forgot that," he went on, fingers grazing along his face.

He nodded and tilted his head to kiss away that mournful guilt, lips touching the corner of Toby's mouth, tongue gliding along thin lips until they parted to him, tongue tip darting out to flick against his own and shoot desire through them both. He grazed his open mouth along Toby's cheek, nuzzling his ear, flicking his tongue against, smiling against it and murmuring, "Ronnie's gonna be disappointed."

Toby turned his head to look at him, hungry possession in his eyes. "Rooonie," he drew the name out again, like before, "can just go fuck himself."

"Looks like, yeah," Chris murmured, stroking Toby's hair, his back and shoulders, as Toby kissed a lazy path down his body, gasping as Toby reached his goal.

Maybe everyone was right and this could only end in grief ... but for now - for now it was a one-way ticket to paradise.