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Alvarez is at a real low point in his life. Stuck in Oz, he's trying to cope with el Cid and his gang turning on him, some major mental illness, the hacks hating him for blinding one of their own, and facing the blinded Rivera in his sessions with Sister Pete. He's just about ripe for some kind of exploitation.
Enter Keller, the perfect psychopathic sexual predator. He's trying desperately to win Beecher back after having broken his heart *and* his limbs, and he finds in Alvarez the perfect way to get his rocks off and work off his frustration at being brushed off and ignored by Beecher.
My eternal gratitude goes to Ozsaur (my hero and shit), for her usual incredible and tireless Beta throughout this series.
Warning: This series contains Violence, Bondage, Dom/sub and Intense Sexual Situations.
Alvarez stares out into the dark, his intense brown eyes focused on just one man. He watches him strut around his pod like he owned the whole god damn place - arrogant and proud. But at the same time he moves with a grace that seems almost feral. A big cat. That's what Keller reminds him of. Pacing his cage, looking for the first sign of weakness to pounce. Like a cat, he can smell the powerless, the frail. He can scent the faint trace of blood in the air. That's how he knows who to attack. Who's the weak link. Who he can take down. Who will fall to him. The man's a predator. Smooth and sleek and deadly. And he's given Alvarez a hard-on just watching him pace the length of his cage.
Alvarez watches Keller closely. Not just in his pod at night. He watches him every where he goes. There was a time when he thought he could ignore Keller. When Keller was just another maricon. Just one more faggot. A dangerous one, to be sure; but as long as he kept his distance, there was nothing to fear from this man. For Keller had a flame inside him. It burned bright, but it burned for one man. If you stayed out of his way, then you could avoid getting burned.
But that was before. Before that closet. Before that heat had touched him, had scorched him, had set him on fire. He didn't know why Keller had chosen him, had picked him out from among the many others. Maybe he sensed his weakness, smelled the scent of blood from the many wounds in his soul, the ones that he'd never been able to heal. Maybe he knew how easy it would be to pick him off from the edge of the crowd; that no one would care, or even notice if he disappeared. No one was watching his back.
But that day in the closet, Keller had held him in his tight, tight fist and had given him pleasure so sharp it made him cry out. Made him cry out as it stirred and aroused him with a pain so sweet it broke him into tiny pieces. That day had changed him. It wasn't that Alvarez didn't understand pain. He knew pain. Had known it all his life and had fought it for as long as he could remember. But just the same, it had drawn him. Pulled him into itself. Shown him how, when mixed with the right amount of pleasure, the results could be more satisfying than either could on its own. That he had know this - had understood it, had been his secret. His alone.
But somehow, Keller had known. Had ripped his secret from him without even trying. Took his pain - took his pleasure - used him. And when he'd gotten what he wanted, had walked away without a backward glance. Leaving Alvarez raw and shattered, struggling to pick up the shards of his soul and piece them back together before any of the scavengers that always lurked around a predator could pick up his scent. By instinct, he had hidden his wounds from the vultures and hyenas that populate this hell hole. By instinct he had hidden away in his pod to lick his wounds and try to recover. He had to figure out how this had happened to him, and what to do about it.
So he watched Keller. Watched him stalking through the quad, to pick a table with a good view of Beecher reading in his pod. Watched him in the showers, his head under the faucet, water running down his sleek skin and pouring off his body. His back turned, but clearly aware that Beecher was at the other end of the row of showerheads. Always aware of Beecher, always watching with that look of intense yearning on his face. No matter where he sat in front of the bank of tv screen, he had a good view. Find Beecher in the crowded cafeteria and Keller would be two rows away, with a clear line of sight. Beecher. Always Beecher. Tonight, pacing, on the prowl, his eyes riveted to the pod where Beecher slept.
Keller always watches Beecher, and now Alvarez watches Keller. He thinks of the two of them together; Keller's hands on Beecher, the way they had been on him. Giving him the same pleasure, the same pain. He doesn't believe it. Doesn't think that Beecher could take it. Could understand the pleasure that pain can bring. Not the way he does. Maybe that's why. Why Keller sought him out. Maybe he felt the needed to give that pain the same way Alvarez needed to seek it out. To take it. To embrace it. Maybe Keller needed him, too.
No. Alvarez turns his back with a grunt, crossing to his bunk. He doesn't need Keller, doesn't need anything from him. He strips out of his clothes and slips under the blanket wearing nothing but his boxers. His hard on is raging, and he presses on it with the heel of his palm, trying to control it. Trying to resist the pull of thoughts of Keller. Pushing him against the wall, holding him there with nothing but his fist tight around his cock and the force of his will. His balls ache just thinking about the way Keller had pulled his groans out of him. Forced Alvarez to surrender to his own pain. His own pleasure.
Finally he gives in. With el Cid in the hole, he's alone in his pod, so he strips his boxers off and moans out loud as he fists his cock. He can feel the pressure of Keller's body pressed against his, holding him in place, pressing him into the door. Gripping his own cock, squeezing roughly and jerking himself hard, he can feel Keller's hot, moist breath on his neck. His hips jerk convulsively as he feels Keller's hand on his ass, pulling Alvarez' hips in to grind against Keller's erection.
He can feel the outline of Keller's hard dick as it rubs up against his hip bone. He moans aloud as he feels Keller's sharp teeth biting into his neck and shoulder. Alvarez reaches for his nipple, twisting it savagely as he remembers Keller's teeth biting down, and shudders through his orgasm, feeling Keller's sharp thrusts against his hip bone, heard his grunts of pleasure as he comes against Alvarez' body.
Alvarez' orgasm is spectacular. Arm pressed over his mouth, muffling his loud wordless cries, it's hard to tell if they are from pleasure or pain. Maybe they're both. Shaking lightly, too drained to do more than lie there gasping for air, he closes his mind to what had happened in that closet. No more. That would never happen again. He turns over on his side, his back to Keller's pod. He turns his back to Keller. Never again.
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