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Beta'd by Erin.

Go Straight to Hell, Boy - part 9/17

by Ralu

"Okay, that's enough. That's enough, I said!..."

Pushing Keller away from him, tucking himself in, and climbing in his bunk, Schillinger only manages to let out a small, almost restrained "Fuck"; incapable of looking at the other man - still on the floor, on his knees.

What the fuck was he doing? Blowjob after blowjob after blowjob - still this wasn't going anywhere. Schillinger didn't even know where it was supposed to be going, in the first place...but he knew this was NOT it. Getting Keller back where he belonged, to fuck with Beecher; getting him back just for the fun of it. For...(--the sex.)

Okay, for the sex. But...there had to be something else behind it, it just had to be. Couldn't be just for the fucking, and for Beecher.

Sure, he had enjoyed himself those first days, the vibe he got from everybody watching and KNOWING he still had it. That sense of power. The one...(--he depended on more than anything else. Like Beecher depended on alcohol, or heroin, or whatever he might have come up with. Like Keller depended on...What the fuck did Keller ever depend on, anyway?!...--) But that had trailed off pretty quickly, like everything else here, in Oz. Nobody was interested anymore. Not even Beecher. (Apparently) If he was ever interested, in the first place. (--And: 'Why do you care that much about what Beecher thinks?'--)

*Of course* he was fucking interested, he had to be. That's his nature. Like with that Guenzel prick; he knew what it all meant, and he felt it underneath his skin, over and over. Vern still roamed inside the other man, making him feel ashamed, guilty, uncomfortable. STAINED. (--'Nobody ever forgets shit like that. And...that's where the power is. The juice.'--)

But, this thing, right here, with Keller, well...it all felt like shit warmed over. Senseless. A dumb, unwise move. Something...dangerous. And annoying.

Keller was no fucking prag material, he knew that, kept repeating it to himself over and over, before actually accepting the other man's offer. And...after. Accepting it. Chris just knew too much, too fucking well. He knew everything, 'cause...(--he had been there before.) So, there wasn't much Vern could throw at him, really. 'Cause, both him and Keller knew...(--Vern wasn't the man to change, to *reform*.) He was stable; as predictable as the waves of the ocean pounding relentlessly on the shore. And Keller (just like Beecher, as Vern had learned to discover, in time), knew him inside and out. Even more than Beecher.

Because...Vern and Keller, well, the two of them were not that different. Prag, or slut, or spineless motherfucker - Keller was more like Schillinger than Beecher ever could have been.

The thought gave Vern a weird, uncontrollable feeling of...closeness towards the other man. The king of closeness one feels towards his...kin. His *kind*.

Not that Keller could have ever classified as his 'kind', in the first place, but...(--sometimes, fucking him felt like that, especially this time around.) Like fucking someone of Vern's own nature. His making, his *creation*. Fucking a distorted image of...himself.

It all felt so unnatural, so out of place. Wrong. And...unballanced. Dangerous. (--'That fucking word, again.'--)

Nope, this new situation didn't make Vern feel GOOD at all. Satiated...yeah. (Almost) Keller's willingless, his almost-complete indifference seemed so...deconcentrating. Annoying. It was not what Schillinger would have expected, in the first place.

An...*arrangement*, yup, that's what it was. No coersion. No real power behind it. No driving force...except for the sex. And Beecher. (--'Shit, how come everything I do revolves around that bitch?!'--)

Good fucking question...


"I heard you talked to Keller."

Beecher glances up from the book he was reading on the top bunk, giving O'Reily a sly, distant look:

"Yeah? Where did you hear that from?"

"You know, news travels fast around here."

"Gossip, you mean."

"Whatever you wanna call it, Beecher", Ryan snaps back, leaning against the edge of the bunk (his bunk, 'cause, yeah, Beecher's sitting on *his* bunk): "I tell you, you should be careful, 'cause..."

"Nobody fucks with Schillinger's property." (--'*I* should know that, right?'--)

Closing the book and letting it slip on the floor, right next to O'Reily's foot, making the other man (barely) wince:

"I don't think my safety's any of your concern, Ryan."

"So...you did talk to him, right?"

"Oh, Jesus!... Yeah, I talked to him, so?"

Ryan just shruggs, backing away from the other man.

"Same fucking story, nothing new", Toby says - his voice trully bored. And tired.

Not looking up at O'Reily. Still, the other man presses on:

"Did he tell you why the fuck he's *hangin' out* with Schillinger?

Ulterior motives, Beecher thinks. Who knows? Who *cares*?

"We didn't talk about Schillinger."

"Then, what the fuck did ya talk about?!" O'Reily snaps nervously, staring at the other man.

And, to that, Beecher just nods annoyed, jumps down and walks out of the pod, making O'Reily shout after him:

"Hey! Beecher!"

Pointless. Fucking pointless. Catching at the last moment Schillinger's gaze, watching the whole thing.


"Somethin's up in the *buddyhood* pod", Schillinger barks - tiny bit of interest in his usually blank voice.

Yeah, or maybe you're just imagining things, Vern, Keller thinks, unresponsive.

The other man's silence irritates Schillinger:

"What? You don't feel like talking, Chris-to-pher?! Cat got your tongue?"

Suddenly, Keller stands up, turning his back on the other man, whispering:

"Give me a fucking break."

(--'What the fuck am I doing? What the FUCK am I doing?'--)

Getting back under Vern's thumb - so to speak - had seemed like the most natural thing, at first. Something he needed. At that particular moment.

But now...Schillinger was boring him. Vern was BORING. Unbearable, at times. Like...(--right the fuck now).

"Oh, what's the matter, sweetpea? Things started to suck already?"

Trying to put into his words as much control as possible:

"We all have our bad days, Vern."

"I tell you when you can have your bad day, Chris"-- Schillinger's voice, suddenly turning sharp as a knife's edge: "Don't fucking forget that."

"How could I ever forget that?", Keller delivers with a bitter smirk, turning towards the other man, placing his elbows on the top bunk: "How could I ever?"

Grabbing control -- the only way Chris ever knew how.

His smirk, slipping into something Schillinger can't quite make out; something more ragged. With an...edge. Making Vern uncomfortable. (--'Is he...is he trying to *play* me? Or...what?!--)

"Don't get smart with me." (--'Again that fucking phrase. What the hell's happening to him, is he getting senile?!'--)

"Hey, nobody's doing that, here, Vern"-- Keller outright SMILING, now, resting his head on his arm: "Baby."

Looking almost... (--'Oh, shit! *Dreamy*.'--)

And, to that, Schillinger finds himself incapable of applying the right measure of response.

He feels like punching him, or, at least, saying something demeaning. But he doesn't. And he knows Keller knows it too. Right now, this very moment, he's...(--*weak*). Something's seriously screwed up inside him.

And Keller's standing there - invading his personal space and shit (something that only Vern's supposed to be doing) - staring right into his eyes. Smiling and licking his lower lip - like a cheap whore, completely aware of the effect it carries with it.

(Well, more like a '40's film noir femme fatale, if Vern's to be honest.)

"What...what the fuck are you doing?"-- Schillinger's voice, breaking a bit. Okay, more than a bit. A whole lot more.

"Oh, nothing," Chris replies, slowly tracing a very palpable line with his fingers on Schillinger's leg, way up to his crotch; stopping and squeezing a little, his long fingers closing in onto the full, heavy scrotum: "Nothing..." (--'you don't want me to be doing.')

(--'Oh, fuck. *That*'s what he's doing.'--) He's so...LOST.

"We can't fuck right now..."-- Keller murmurs softly, rubbing Vern's cock a bit faster now, harder: "But...we can always work out something else, right?"

"Don't, don't... Holy shit, don't stop", Schillinger barely manages to mutter, sweating and panting under the other man's skilled touch. Feeling his cock hard and twitching under the fabric; small, muffled grunts spilling out from his burning throat, making him slightly blush, a bit ashamed (as usual) of his own response.

But...(--'fuck being *ashamed*, this feels so fucking, so fucking...oh, fuck... Fuck!...'--)

Yep, that's what I mean, Keller thinks, amused. Shit! If he were to do this to God himself, he'd be getting back the exact same response.

(--'I got you where I want you. Like always. Like...with anyone else, really.'--)

"Still feel like talking about shit that don't matter, Vern?" Chris lets out, feeling the other man rapidly approaching the release he needs.

(--'Nope? Well, I guess this beats everything else by a fucking mile. So, keep fucking asking me to do it, 'cause it sure don't MEAN shit to me, and...stop asking me to TALK to you. Trust me, baby, I've heard it all before, and it ain't *interesting*.'--)

Unzipping Vern's pants, after a quick check-up for any potential voyeuristic hacks, and...making the other man come into his palm, rubbing his fingers onto Vern's sweaty flesh like...(--he would be rubbing onto anyone else's.) (--'It's that easy.'--)

"Oh, shit, oh, Christ Allmighty, FUCK, FUUUCK...you, you...you fucking cunt, you...whore. YOU WHORE."

"Yeah, well...", Chris mutters indifferent, wiping Vern's cum off his palm on his trousers, looking sideways and putting on the most bored, dismissive expression possible ('cause, he really IS bored): "If it get's you where you want..." (--'And me, where I want...or think I want...who the fuck cares?'--)

Just another boring, meaningless moment in the days (and nights) of podmates. Anywhere. At any fucking time. With...fucking anybody.

But, still...that's what gets Schillinger. And keeps him. Locked. Trapped. For the moment, anyway.


Back to Vern's own private thoughts...the ones that keep him awake almost every fucking night, lately.

God, this was turning into one huge mistake! (If Vern is actually capable of ever admitting to making mistakes, to...being human. Flawed.)

Keller was, still, his usual self. He hadn't changed a bit; or, if he had, Vern was now the one ripping what he himself had once sowed into the younger man's soul. Into his flesh.

That *burn* any first-time prag is cursed to never forget, to always carry inside, like a scar. A mark. A fucking reminder of...all the things one should always remember.

And Keller sure does remember, like the man's carrying a goddamned prag guideline book underneath his skin, or something: 'How to make the guy you're with all hot and bothered'. (Oh, yeah: and the recipe for giving the best blowjob EVER!)

Always putting out at the right moment. And...taking initiative. Sometimes, when it is hinted at. (Something that Beecher never fucking did...'initiative' probably NOT being in his dictionary...not when it comes to putting out, anyway.)

But, if that's the case with Chrissie, then, what the fuck was that, earlier, in the middle of the fucking day?... As good (great, fucking amazing!) as it might have been, Vern hadn't let out any kind of hint...none that he was aware of, anyway. (--'And...that's not right. Where the fuck are you heading, Vern, if you can't even control your own body, your own goddamn thoughts? If you're not even sure of yourself, anymore?'--)

He knows - or supposes he knows - what it means. It MEANS that it is all turning, slowly, but definitely, into some sort of a *relationship*. Like...(--marriage.) With reciprocity, as the main ingredient. The best ingredient. The one that actually matters.

And, let's face it, buddy, you don't wanna go there. 'Cause that's...(--power sharing.) (--'Oh, come on, Vern, just say it!'--)

Okay, that's fag shit. (--'And, you're not a fag, everybody already knows that, blah-blah...'--)

But, maybe, any kind of relationship with Keller would eventually turn in that direction, anyway. 'Cause, the man's...(--a slut, a fucking cunt, a bitch, a...whatever.) A fag. And Schillinger knows that, knew that. (--'Yeah, you fucking KNEW that from the beginning.'--)

But, still...(--'that didn't stop you from jumping head first into resuming, well, what you had before.'--) (--'And that makes you...what?'--)

Well, definitely NOT a... No. Fucking NO! A man, in a place like this...you gotta manage with what you're given. With whatever you can find, whatever (whoever) you can get your hands on. You get off any way you can. It's that simple.

But, it means Keller's just that: an open and (very available, *too* fucking available) hole...

And, there's the fucking paradox, Vern; that's YOUR paradox. What keeps you up at night. What gives you fucking...(--headaches.)

Yup, Keller's turning into one massive fucking headache, that's for sure. (--Shit!, even with Beecher, things were easier!'--)


Of course, what Schillinger doesn't yet understand, is that he is slowly letting himself slip on that slippery slope to continuous, nerve wrecking, restless nights.

That he can't...stop himself from slipping deeper and deeper. That he's losing control, and, between all the bitching and the moaning, he actually...(--enjoyes it.)

And that fucking *stinks* a lot like...well...

He should really ask Keller about that one.

---end of part 9/17---

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