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Beta'd by Erin.
Human Touch - part 6/10: "give me all you have all you can't give"
"...like chocolate Jesus..."
Whispering the words close to his face, breath tinged with a fresh/sour scent of mint and cigarette smoke. Leaning in towards him, not touching though.
"Tom Waits. Right?" Beecher says smiling.
"Smart boy..."-- smiling a wicked little smile: "You Harvard guys like this kind of music?"
"*I* like it."
It's so weird how many things they actually have in common. Same taste in music, same dry, twisted sense of humor.
"I'm running towards nothing, again and again and again..."-- Chris' slow-running voice's interrupted by Toby's soft chuckle.
"Oh, that's easy. Robert Smith."
"Okay, I give up. It's so fucking weird," Keller says under his breath, voicing Beecher's own thoughts.
"I know. It's weird for me too."
Leaning in even closer now, Chris' face only inches away from Toby's. He's not saying anything, just looking deep into the other man's eyes.
"You wanna kiss me, huh?" Toby asks teasingly.
He's daring him; they're outside their pod, in the middle of the day, with everybody roaming around.
Beecher's leaning against the pod's wall, hands behind his back, palms slowly rubbing against the cold glass; he can see over Keller's shoulder, Rebadow and O'Reily trying *not* to stare at them, for lack of anything better to do.
"Uh-huh," Chris lets out, smile still lingering on his lips.
"So...what the fuck are you waiting for?"
Keller lifts one eyebrow, smile fading a little; confusion written all over his face.
(--'Now? Here? With everybody watching? You sure?...'--)
"I swear to Christ, I'll never get you," Chris moans, low, throaty, as lips lock slowly, both men tasting each other for one brief second.
Hearing O'Reily's annoyed, almost exasperated voice behind them:
He brushes his lips gently over the other man's skin, just above the navel and lets his hands slide down around his hips.
He looks up for a second - just a second - to see if Beecher's closed his eyes. Yep, just like fucking always.
He starts sucking hard, matching Toby's body; his rhythm and pace, the inner vibration humming through his bones.
Not much foreplay, just plain old cocksucking technique put to use for Beecher to get off fast.
They've been doing this lately - fucking, that is - in an almost organized manner, like an old married couple. After all, they're not even supposed to be doing it in the first place.
Shit!... Sometimes whole weeks pass without any of them even *asking* for it. And when they *do* have sex - well, only a moron would dare to call it 'love-making'...
It's just consensual, pressure releasing, need-driven, plain old fucking.
Best way to prove yourself you're still breathing; still human.
There isn't room for much innovation, or surprises when you're in a glass cage and manage to maintain some sort of a strange, unspoken agreement with the hacks - Murphy, to be more precise - to just be left the fuck alone for a couple of hours.
Beecher doesn't need fucking roses or a goddamn ring to bend over. And neither does Chris. They both know where they are, what they are. Who they are. And what they're doing.
(Well, Keller knows...)
After a while, routine becomes you in jail.
He doesn't protest when Beecher's hands clutch at the back of his head and blunt fingers dig deep, painful in his skin, forcing him to suck harder and faster, completely discarding any shred of control he still had over the situation.
He feels...well, he feels kind of like he did with Schillinger; same mindless, almost automatic need for release, same demanding hands making him acknowledge his own status, and just how little he means, in the bigger picture.
Except...this time he actually wants it. He knows Beecher needs it, he senses it through the other man's body - and that makes all the difference.
He's got himself this odd, twisted, little Ivy League man - kids and family and decent (former) profession included - needing *him*.
Nothing like Schillinger...right?
When he's finished, Keller kisses Toby's inner thigh, waiting for a response; Beecher's arms are no longer anywhere on him, and the only response he seems to be getting is a small shiver in his weakened knees. Toby moves a little to the left, tucks himself in and goes towards the sink, leaving the other man still on his knees.
Just like Schillinger, Chris thinks. *Users.*
(--'Just like you.'--)
Beecher turns slowly towards Keller, who has seated himself on the lower bunk, elbows on his knees. He's humming something to himself, Toby notices.
"How many other men have you done this to?"
The question seems to hit Keller in the gut like a sucker punch; he winces, incapable of controlling his own body. He can't even laugh at it.
"Why do you wanna know?" he asks quietly.
"You like it?... You like doing it?"
"*Like* what?!..."-- a lazy grin spreads on Chris' face: "Sucking your cock?"
He gets up and tries one of his all-too-practiced gropes, only to find Beecher backing off smoothly.
"Jesus...what the fuck?" Chris himself moves a couple of steps away from the other man, scowling: "What do you want?"
Beecher just stares at him silently for a moment. It's obvious this has been on his mind for quite some time, Keller knows him too well not to notice it.
(--'When that brain of yours starts working, hell is most likely gonna break loose. Fucking over-educated moron, you never know when to stop, do you?'--)
"Doesn't..."-- his voice breaking up a little: "Doesn't it bother you that people see? That everybody knows you're blowing me?"
"Does it bother you?"
"Well...I have to be honest..."-- stuttering: "It's not exactly easy for me to..."
"Cut the bullshit, Tobe," Keller snaps back, almost mutinously: "Does it bother YOU?"
"Yes, it does," Beecher says, almost in relief.
"Of course it does..." Chris whispers beneath his breath: "Then why the hell are you fucking me, huh? What, you need big, strong Keller to make sure your ass stays safe 'til you get paroled, or something? 'Cause - if that's what this is - trust me Toby, you don't need me for that, you can do it on your own. You're strong enough for that."
(--'You fucking bitch.'--)
He sees the other man's limbs tremble slightly, his eyes slit into two pale blue lines - like open wounds. His mouth twitches, and those thin lips of his twist into a mockery of a smile.
Great choice in words, Keller thinks. But...(--'Hey, it might actually work. Getting something - something important - out of him, one way or the other.'--)
"I don't need you to take care of me, Chris," Beecher snaps back, unable to conceal any of the hurt, anger and confusion running though his veins like poison; then, in what is supposed to be mock-sweetly, but is anything but that: "I'm not your prag."
"Really? It sure does look like it," Keller says, keeping his voice low and casual, moving in towards the other man: "Otherwise...why would you do it...if it *bothers* you so much, huh?"
(--'Gotcha, you fucking hypocrite.'--)
He can see the other man squirming, caught in the trap of his own difficulty in admitting the obvious to himself: nobody's forcing anyone here to do shit, and they're both enjoying it.
"You've twisted...you always twist everything I say," Toby whispers in a tone that seems both defeated and angry: "This wasn't about me..."
"This IS about you, just like fucking everything else," Keller coldly points out: "*I* didn't ask *you* if you like to suck cock, okay? You fucking did. You're the one that's fucking embarrassed."
"You want me to lie?"
And there's another display of that lawyer brain of yours, Chris thinks, trying to keep a safe distance from the other man. He feels Beecher's setting another trap - consciously or unconsciously - for him to fall into, like the big idiot that he presumably is...
He knows Toby's not exactly unabashed about this relationship, he's not fucking blind. But what Beecher doesn't realize - or doesn't care enough to - is that Keller himself is not particularly okay with being called everything from 'faggot' to 'Beecher's boyfriend'...
"What I want is for you to stop lying to yourself and stop lying to me."
Chris' words float around between them for what seems like eternity. Toby doesn't say anything in return; he just leans against the pod's door, completely defenseless.
"If *this* - what we have - embarrasses you or what-the-fuck-ever...Maybe we should stop. 'Cause this bullshit, this fucking attitude of yours - sticking your dick in my mouth and then whining to Said about how you don't wanna fucking do it in the first place... I'm telling you, Tobe - it don't feel too fucking good. I'm not your fucking whiskey bottle to drown yourself in, okay? Don't treat me like a fucking whore."-- voice breaking into audible gasps, hands clutching his knees: "Just don't... I've had that all my life and I... That's...that's not why I chose this, chose you."
His last words - barely pronounced - seem to touch the void stretching out between them.
The other man slowly moves towards Chris, leaning on his knees in front of him.
(--'God, he's so fragile, so fucking fragile...'--)
"This isn't easy for me either," Keller whispers, shivering as Toby's hands settle on his shoulders.
"Giving up like this, being all...defenseless." He sighs, looking somewhere beyond the other man's figure: "You gotta understand that, Toby, it's not easy for me either. But I want you, I want this. With you."
"I want it too," Beecher says beneath his breath, forcing Chris to meet his eyes. "I want it too, Chris. You're not the only one who made that choice. I'm here, with you, because I wanna be. It's just..."
"Don't ever ask me that."-- He buries his face in Toby's shoulder, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. White-knuckled hands crumple the other man's T-shirt, grabbing him close, too close. "Don't ever fucking ask me that, okay? Don't ever... This is different, you're different..."
(--'Just hold him tight, just hold him...'--)
Still, the dimmest - and the most powerful - part of Beecher's brain doesn't fail to register Chris' last words: "This is different, you're different..."
He's got his answer, the one he already knew. An answer that - although he doesn't even give a damn about it - he can't help but ask for.
The two men spend the rest of the night in their own bunks, separated by space, by dreams, by emotions.
Trying to forget themselves, and all that stretches between them like an unbearable, unbridgeable gap.
Trying to reach each other through the lie they strive to turn into truth. The truth that passes between them as a lie.
The one thing they have and can't let go of; what won't let go of them.
---end of part 6/10---
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