by reetchick

Author's Notes: Thanks for the excellent beta work to Alee for style; Ilexa for encouragement; to my favorite egomaniacal dictatorial Nazi overlord, ShowerMat, for invaluable canonical help, and most of all to Rhiannon Jehane, who was gracious enough to read outside her fandom, and who pretty much held my hand through the entirety of the writing. Flowers, baby. You need flowers. Mwah.

Set in some vague and unspecified time between the end of S3 and beginning of S4. It's fic, people. Pretend.

\De*vo"tion\, n. [F. d['e]votion, L. devotio.] 1. The act of devoting; consecration. 2. The state of being devoted; addiction; eager inclination; strong attachment, love or affection; zeal; especially, feelings toward God appropriately expressed by acts of worship; devoutness.

Chris shifted against the wall, following Mineo with his eyes as he made his final pass before lights out. The hack glared at him through the thick glass, and he almost didn't hear Mineo's muttered "keep your hands to yourself tonight, faggot," as he walked past the pod.

Ten more minutes before ten o'clock. Ten minutes to look, and only look. Chris leaned back against the glass, eyes moving hungrily up and down Toby's body, waiting none-too-patiently for the familiar harsh clank of the lights shutting off for the night. That was their time, Chris thought - or at least the closest thing to their time as they were ever likely to have.

Funny thing, time. In a whole lot of ways, there was way too much of it, at least during the day.

Too much time for looking, but no time for touching. Oh no, you were fucked if you went for more than a casual brush of skin. Sure, they could try for a hasty grope in a corner, but the risk of some asshole like Mineo hauling them off each other - maybe even ratting to McManus or Glynn - was pretty fucking big.

Too much time listening to Toby's steady, even breathing. There were times when all Chris could think about was how many different ways he'd made that sound change. The times Toby couldn't help breathing hard and fast, how he'd desperately suck in gulps of air as Chris swallowed his cock or fucked his ass.

It was a huge fucking trip to listen to Beecher bite back the little grunts and moans he almost made. Chris smirked. Earlier that week, he'd leaned in close as they waited in line for lunch, letting his lips brush Toby's ear as he whispered "on the outside, you must've been a real screamer in the sack." Toby had turned scarlet and refused to talk to him - until later that night, when he'd hissed out his name from behind teeth clenched tight in pleasure.

Too much time for smelling, but no chance to taste. Especially in that purgatory between lockdown and lights out - God, there wasn't a way to get away from Toby, the smell and the heat of him.

His scent teased Chris, tormented him with the faint, salty air - and sometimes, if Toby was sprawled across the top bunk, Chris could walk past and get a whiff of something deeper, muskier, more primal. It was all he could do to hold himself back, to keep from ripping off the fucking shorts and just going for it, sucking Toby's cock into his mouth and tossing him onto his belly so he could shove his tongue into that hot, sweet ass....

God. Chris shook his head, tried to clear his thoughts. Too fucking much time. Christ. And he wasn't in control of one fucking minute of it. Yeah, maybe he didn't deserve it any more, but people like Toby ... people like Toby, they did.

Sometimes he was convinced that the time was what was going to kill him. Not a shank, or a riot, or one of the hacks, or even a fucking gunshot. No, with his luck, he was going to drop over dead waiting for some stupid fucking thing like a turn in the shower or in the can. Or maybe, just maybe, waiting to fuck.

One more minute. Then, thank god, night - their time. Eight hours of darkness, and it wasn't half enough. It'd never be enough for him, not where Toby was concerned.

He walked toward his lover quietly before the darkness fell, wanting to be ready to seize every moment of the hours they had together.

Chris approached him slowly, bare feet soundless against the cement floor of the cell. He watched for the signs - watched as Toby's chest rose and fell more quickly, as his tongue darted out, leaving a glistening promise of moisture on his full lips.

Then, finally - finally - the hack shouted and the lights went off, and before Toby could say a word, Chris covered his mouth with his own lips, pressing forward and seeking entrance with his tongue.

He reached out and put his hands on Toby's hips, drawing them closer, pressing already-hot bodies together, chest to chest, cock to cock, thighs intertwined. Their hips thrust eagerly, keeping time with their tongues eagerly relearning the contours of one another's mouths.

Chris felt Toby slide his lips across his cheek, finding his jawline and mouthing the strong pulse he found there.

"God, Chris," he panted, biting the shell of his ear.

Chris smiled against Toby's neck, getting off on being wanted every bit as urgently as he wanted. He could nearly smell Toby's urgency; they always had to be fast. Christ, it was no wonder people made what they did together sound dirty - they had to fucking rush their way through it. Slam, bam, suck or fuck, and yeah it was great, but it sure as hell wasn't making love.

"'S'okay," he whispered back. "I've got you." He pulled his face back for a moment, looking deep into Toby's eyes, needing to see all the desperation and consent and desire there.

"I got you," Chris repeated, and slid his hand down, down from where it cradled Toby's neck, down his chest, pausing to rub his thumb over a tightly puckered nipple, pinching it once.

Toby raised his hands to grasp the sides of Chris' face, pulling him back in for a bruising kiss, thrusting forward so hard with his hips he knocked Chris off balance and back a step.

Growling, Chris yanked his hands up and planted them on Toby's shoulders, slamming him up against the back wall. He cupped Toby's chin with his right hand, squeezing a fraction too hard before running his callused fingers down Toby's throat in a caress. "Slow the fuck down," he breathed over Toby's kiss-swollen lips. "I'm trying to do something here."

He licked across Toby's mouth, a broad swipe of tongue, savoring his flavor. God, he'd wait forever to taste him - he'd already waited forever.

And he was so fucking tired of making Toby wait for it and then rushing through to the end. He was tired of having to wait for what he wanted all the goddamn time. Toby, God, Toby deserved better. He deserved long, patient lovemaking, not a quick fuck up against a wall.

He pinned Toby with his chest, brushing his thumbs under Toby's hooded eyes, exhaling heavily over each part of Toby's face - his forehead, his cheeks, his jawline, his mouth. Chris' tongue came out again and licked slowly across the seam of Toby's mouth, listening for his long, needy groan.

"Hurry," Toby begged. "Before the hacks, Mineo, before they" -

"Don't worry about it," Chris whispered hotly over Toby's parted lips. He moved deliberately, precisely, unhurried - because what the fuck could they do to him, anyway, that they hadn't already done?

His hands fell to Toby's shoulders, and he dragged his open mouth across his jaw and his neck to his bare chest, using his tongue to paint hot, wet stripes as he made his way down. His hands caressed Toby's flat stomach, slipping past the elastic of his boxers, pushing them down and out of the way until finally he could touch the heat and hardness there.

And then he sank to his knees, reached around to grab Toby's ass and leaned into the hot length waiting for him. All for him.

Chris buried his face in the damp curls and inhaled, savoring the smell of his lover, savoring the brief - damn it, always brief - moments of joy he was able to find in doing this to him. For him.

He bent his head slowly and extended just the tip of his tongue. Gently, reverently, he licked Toby's straining cock from base to tip. He felt the other man tremble under his fingers and was helpless to keep the smile from his own lips.

One single shudder from this man and Chris felt more complete than he could remember being, maybe ever.

So, yeah - fuck the hacks. He'd lived through the hole. And fuck the other guys - he'd survived being stabbed. Hell, he'd lived through being separated from Toby, and they'd found a way to be together again. They always would.

So let them all go fuck themselves, Chris thought. Just fucking let someone try to rush me tonight.

"God, Chris," Toby whispered. He reached down and ran his hands over Chris' short hair, smoothing it back from his face. "Please. Do it."

Chris smiled up at him, catching Toby's right hand with his own, and brought their joined hands to his lips for a kiss. "It's okay, baby," he replied. "There's time."

He leaned forward and nuzzled underneath Toby's cock, using his tongue to caress his balls with tiny licks. He groaned deep in his chest as he sucked a bruise onto the crease where Toby's leg joined his body - he loved marking him, marking him so anyone who saw him would know what they'd done and that he belonged to Chris. That they belonged to each other.

He felt the moisture from his own cock dampening the fabric of his thin boxers. He took Toby's cock in his left hand, massaging the base as he brought his mouth to the shaft again, tonguing long, wet swipes up and down the hardness. His right hand snuck down to his own shorts, rubbing firmly against his erection to soothe the fierce ache.

Toby looked down at him, his breath coming in short, jagged bursts. "Yeah," he panted. "Take it out, let me see. Fuck your hand while you're sucking me off."

Chris squeezed the base of Toby's cock, then bent to the purplish head and sucked once, long and hard, watching as Toby's head lolled back against the wall as his lips opened and closed in voiceless cries of pleasure.

Chris shoved his hand into his shorts and drew his cock out, slowly jacking himself in time with the movement of his tongue along the slit.

Toby started to groan, his head moving from side to side against the wall. "Oh, yeah, oh yeah, God, Chris."

With the tips of his fingers, Chris kneaded Toby's tightening sac, feeling his balls starting to draw close to his body.

Chris pulled off with a pop that seemed far too loud in their dark sanctuary, and Toby made a sound that was perilously close to a whine. His hand reflexively clenched the air next to Chris' hair. "Wha- why - "

Chris used his thumb and index finger to squeeze a tight circle under the crown of Toby's angry cock. "Ease up, baby," he whispered. "Enjoy the ride."

Toby's look of confusion made something inside Chris' chest feel like it might burst. He watched the expressions flit over his face - frustration, lust, desperation, and then acceptance. Trust.

"Okay," Toby whispered, a sudden peace settling over him. "Okay."

And Chris took Toby in one hand and himself in the other, jacking them together, their rhythm matching, increasing the tempo until it was in tandem with the rapid beating of their hearts.

He bent and took Toby's entire cock deep into his mouth again, feeling the flesh hot and slick under his tongue, hearing Toby's muffled cries, feeling Toby's balls draw up tight.

And now it was right, now it was time, now, and he felt the hot rush of semen in his mouth and heard the wails of his own name and the beating of their hearts surrounded him, and he grasped his own cock one last time so he could join him, so he and Toby could at least be together in their climax.

But before he could get there, at the very moment he was poised on the knife-bright edge of orgasm, his arm was jerked back and away from his body.

He heard the frantic pounding of his heart, he saw Toby's stricken expression as he watched Mineo pull Chris out of their pod.

Chris' ears were filled with his own cursing and shouts as he fought him, flailing madly, thrashing with his arms and his legs because he had to be violent, had to be dangerous so the fucking asshole intruder - who the fuck gave him the right? - so he would call for help and another hack would rush in, then another, so they would raise their hands and beat him, pound on him with their sticks and their fists and their heavy, booted feet.

He looked back, desperate to catch a last glimpse of Toby before he was dragged too far away. Chris exploded into movement, writhing around, no longer making even the barest effort to avoid the heavy blows falling on his shoulders and back.

Lunging fiercely, he wrenched his upper body around to face their pod. "Don't you fucking forget this, Beech," he roared, twisting away from the hands trying to muffle him. "I took my fucking time!"

And then his world shrank down to a haze of pain and blood and fire. His eyes started to roll back in his head, but he fought that, too, and kept his gaze locked with Toby's until unconsciousness took him.

Hours later, he woke up, and smiled.

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