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Under Your Gaze

by CatHeights


Keller liked to watch Beecher. He always would, no matter what shit went down between them. His favorite moments were ones like now when Beecher was unaware that he was being studied, memorized. Arms crossed, Keller stared as Beecher reached into the dryer, pulling out clothes, shoulder muscles bunching. He remembered the way those muscles had felt under his hands -- warm, loose.

The time they'd had together had been far too short, but in that time, he'd learned all of Toby's triggers. He knew that the light touch of lips, with just a bit of tongue, on the inner thigh made Toby moan. He knew which moves caused certain muscles to tense and which ones made others relax. Not an inch of Toby's body was a mystery, and yet it still held the allure of uncharted territory.

He wanted to go exploring again.

Desire curled its way through his groin. Keller's cock twitched with a need that had gone unfulfilled for too long. It shouldn't be like this. He shouldn't have to watch and not touch. He'd done too much of that. How long had he waited while he did his penance trying to prove to Beecher that his love was true? And then he'd been forced to walk away because it all had been an illusion. He hadn't proved anything. Forgiveness was a lie. No one forgave, not even God.

His hand briefly clenched as anger moved to sit low in his stomach. She was a comforting and familiar companion, making everything hurt less. Yes, just a bit of anger could keep you going, keep you focused, and get you what you wanted, when you needed it. Keller slouched in the doorway, his intense gaze trailing its way down Beecher's body. For a second, the world turned a warm red as anger and want did a frenzied danced through his blood.

He exhaled, and his vision cleared, and as it did he saw Beecher shudder. Keller smirked. Ah-ha. So Beecher wasn't unaware of his presence. Of course not, he'd survived too much in Oz not to know when someone was watching. That meant Beecher was trying to ignore him, as if that was really possible.

In a smooth, powerful movement, Keller pushed away from the door and strolled into the room. "Beecher."

Toby gave him a brief glance but didn't say anything. He pulled a pile of laundry out of the dryer, dropping half of it. As he bent down to pick up the escaped socks and shirts, Keller stared at his ass.

"It's rude not to say hello." Keller hopped up onto one of the washers, his grin growing when he heard Beecher's annoyed sniff.

"What do you want, Keller?" Toby dropped the retrieved laundry into the basket, and reached in for the rest of his clothing. Nothing escaped this time. He slammed the dryer shut and lifted the basket.

"Just shooting the shit."

"You can do that alone," Toby said and turned to leave.

Keller jumped off the washer. "Wait, I got something I want to talk to you about." He took the basket easily from Beecher's hands and put it on the table near the door.

"You should have said that when I asked."

"Well, I'm saying it now." He placed a hand on Toby's shoulder, squeezing slightly as he guided him back into the room.

Beecher stared at the hand, but he didn't move away. "So what's so important that you want to talk to me?"

"Now, don't be like that," Keller said and gave Beecher's shoulder another squeeze before he took his hand away. He glanced out through the glass windows. "Come on, let's go back here."

"Why do I need to go anywhere? Why can't you tell me whatever the hell it is right here?" Toby frowned.

"Because I don't want the whole fucking world looking at us while we talk."

Beecher glanced out the window, and then down the length of the laundry room. Finally, he stared at Keller for a moment before he said, "All right." His mouth thinned into a line as tight as he was holding his shoulders.

Tension filled the room. Keller could almost smell it. He resisted the urge to laugh. His triumph was far from complete, his need still unfulfilled. "Ain't none of their business that we're talking. Gotta be some bit of fucking privacy you can have in this shithole." He kept his tone conversational, friendly. With a light touch of his hand, he guided Beecher into the small, hidden corner in the back of the room.

It wasn't until Beecher turned around and saw Keller blocking him into the tiny space that a bit of panic showed on his features. He swallowed. "What do you want to tell me?"

Keller smiled. "It's such a small space back here. Perfect, though. Hard for the hacks to see anything. But you gotta be flexible to make good use of the space." He ran a finger down Beecher's arm, feeling the skin shiver beneath his touch. "Bet you made good use of it. You're very flexible. I remember that."

"Cut it out, Keller. What do you want?"

He reached out a hand to stroke Toby's face, but Toby shied away from him, and he dropped his arm, not pushing it. "What do I want? Interesting question. I've never wanted much really. But the things I've wanted, I've wanted them bad, real bad. Bad enough to do anything to get them. But you know that, don't you?"

Beecher glared at him. "Get out of my way. I'm leaving."

"Hey, what's the rush? We've only just started to talk. Besides, that thing I wanted to talk to you about, it's actually something I want to ask you." He moved closer to the dryer, opening up a bit of space so that Beecher wouldn't feel as trapped. Illusions could be useful when you were the one creating them.

"So ask," Beecher said. His body language showed a small loss of tension.

A brief smile crossed Keller's face. "When you were sucking cock here, did it taste good? Did it make you feel good? Or did it make you wanna gag? Make you feel like shit. Was it another fucked up way to make you hate yourself or did you actually like it?"

"Stop it."

Beecher shoved at his chest, and Keller moved back easily. He wanted Toby to choose to stay. As Beecher slipped past, Keller grabbed his wrist turning him around and backing himself into the small corner. "Wait."

"No," Beecher said. He yanked at his wrist, but Keller only squeezed harder. "Ouch. Get the fuck off of me."

Keller pulled Toby closer, and then bent down and placed a wet kiss in the hollow of his neck. "You always liked it when I sucked you. I made you feel good." He released the wrist, but Beecher didn't move away. "With you and I, it was about pleasure."

"Chris...." It sounded like Beecher was about to say stop, but the word never materialized.

"I made you forget about this place. My mouth on your cock made you forget everything." He felt Toby shudder against his lips, and he sucked lightly almost as if he could swallow the motion. His fingers trailed down Beecher's chest, and he followed their direction until he was kneeling. Keller placed his mouth against the inside of Toby's thigh. He sucked harder than he normally would wanting to make sure Beecher felt the pressure and wetness through the fabric of his pants.

"Oh god, what are you doing?" Toby asked, his voice breathy.

"Now, I know that's not a real question. 'Cause you know exactly what I'm doing." Keller reached up to undo Beecher's pants, pressing against the hardness that met his hand. "I'm reminding you of what it feels like to feel good." He pushed Beecher's pants and boxers down just far enough to give him the access he wanted.

Toby stared at him, his eyes filled with questions, but he said nothing. Keller took the silence as a sign of consent and ran a finger across the tip of Beecher's cock. The slit was sticky, wet for him. He watched as Beecher closed his eyes, giving himself over so willingly. A rush of power, tinged with awe, coursed through him as he opened his mouth and took Beecher inside. One hand cupped Toby's balls, as the other undid his own pants, so he could stroke himself as he sucked. A glance upward, and he could see an expression of pained bliss on Toby's face.

"Chris," Beecher whispered again, as if it was the only word remaining to him, the only word that truly mattered. Keller closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over and soothe the wounded need for his name to be something worthwhile.

It would be smart to make this quick, a hurried, stolen release over before the hacks could stumble upon it, but Keller refused to rush. Want made him reckless, feeding the thrill of risk. He wanted this escape from Oz to feel like forever. Besides, this was a worthwhile gamble. If you were lucky, life tossed you a handful of good moments that vanished before you were ready, leaving behind only memories. Taunting, teasing memories that never offered any comfort nor satisfied any desire. He had now, and that would have to be enough because later he'd be smirking and messing with Beecher's mind.

But that wasn't now. Now was Toby's hand clutching his shoulder, re-establishing their connection. It was lips wrapping around hardness, and the smell of rightness filling his nose. The sex was never bad between them. It was the one thing that always went right, with mouths and hands moving in perfect understanding.

Keller mixed things up -- sucking slower, harder, faster -- while stroking himself in a similar manner, so he was teased just as he teased. Being there right on the edge with Toby made him feel more alive than any con or drug ever had. It felt fucking fantastic.

He took in a bit more of Toby's cock and heard a strangled noise, Beecher's attempt to stifle a moan. His own cock pressed hard into his hand at the sound. What he wouldn't give to hear Beecher moaning so loud he could wake an entire neighborhood. He bet he could come just from listening to that.

"Chris, I can't last...much longer...oh god...I'm sorry, I can't." The realization that Beecher had wanted this to last too came as a surprise to Keller.

The cock in his mouth pulsed, and as he started to swallow, he stroked himself faster bringing on his own orgasm as Toby shuddered through the last moments of his. Lightheaded, Keller released Toby's cock. For a minute, he felt like he was flying, free of everything. Then Beecher removed the grounding hand from his shoulder, and he plummeted back to reality.

Their connection was broken.

He stood, wiped his hand on his pants, and readjusted himself. When he looked up, Beecher's clothing was back in place, and he was staring. "Chris," he said, and right then, Keller wished Beecher would find the rest of his vocabulary because he hated when Toby said his name with that "woe is me, you gotta forgive me" look on his face. It reminded him of the last time he'd left "their" pod. It reminded him of all the times he'd tried to help Toby, and failed.

That look remained on Beecher's face, his forehead crinkling in a way that made Keller want to smooth out the lines. Annoyed, he took a deep breath and reached for the bitter words that would really bring the hurt to Beecher's eyes. He came up empty. What the fuck? He'd played everything perfectly. Now was the time to let Beecher know this had all been another Keller game, the exact type of mindfuck Beecher expected from him. So where were the words?

Beecher reached for him, and he dodged the touch. "Move." He pushed his way out of the corner, but this time it was his wrist that was restrained. Beecher stepped in close and kissed him. Keller didn't pull away. He returned the kiss, hard, rough, all of his need pouring out and all of Toby's need pouring into him. One hand slid into Toby's hair, as he eliminated any space between their bodies. Thoughts of triumph and games disappeared, just the way they always did when he kissed Toby.

When the kiss broke, for a second Keller forgot that forgiveness didn't exist. Then that second bled into another, and memory returned. He couldn't do this. A cold mask dropped over his face, but he couldn't stop his eyes from burning with emotion. Keller glared at Beecher and left the laundry room. He could feel the weight of Toby's stare on his back. That gaze followed him through the doorway, across the common area, and even up the stairs.

Later, when he had his game face back in place, he'd mess with Beecher's mind, drive his point home. Except what was his point? To show that Beecher still wanted him? They both knew that. Desire had never been in question. So what message was he trying to send -- that it mattered to him who Beecher fucked? He'd already sent that message, loud and clear. A few dead bodies and no one was gonna touch Beecher.

Keller stalked into his pod and slammed his fist against the upper bunk. There had been no game, nothing but his need to touch Toby again and to remind him of what they had shared, what he had fucking thrown away by saying one thing but meaning another. Toby had no trust for Keller, no forgiveness. He'd lied with his mouth, with his eyes, and Keller had believed him and been blindsided by the distrust.

Yet, he still wanted to believe; he still needed Beecher. It was fucking pathetic. Keller climbed up into his bunk, lay down and tossed an arm over his eyes. His skin still felt Beecher's gaze, except it suddenly felt stronger, more intense. He removed his arm and slowly sat up. Beecher was standing outside of his pod, staring at him.

For what seemed like an eternity, they remained there, each watching the other, not moving. Then Beecher shook his head and walked away.

Keller lay back down and closed his eyes. Funny, he still felt that gaze on him, although not as strong, a light, always constant caress. That thought was oddly comforting. Just as his gaze was always on Toby -- Toby's was also always on him. They were forever locked in each other's gazes. Keller wondered if there were things that went beyond forgiveness. Perhaps there were some connections that were beyond everything. Maybe it all wasn't lost, wasn't destroyed.

Maybe.

*~*~*~*~*

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