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Thanks to my excellent beta Ozsaur, my hero and shit.
Written for the Live Journal Kink and Cliche Challenge, '06. My prompt: Knife Play
Warnings: Knife Play, Issues of Consent, Bondage, Violence, Graphic Sex.
Beginning dialogue taken from Oz - Season 6, Episode 7: Junkyard Dawgs - written by: Tom Fontana and Chuck Schweizer (not me, dern it all.)

The Red Curtain

by dustandroses

The red curtain was drawn most of the way across the stage. Beecher didn't see Suzanne around, so he figured she must be backstage somewhere. The backstage area was miniscule; it shouldn't take long to find her. He jogged the two steps up to the stage and walked through the gap between the curtains, pushing them aside with his script.


He stopped short, startled to see Keller there, a red scarf draped around his neck. Keller looked up, dismissing him with a glance, and walked out through the curtains, pulling the scarf off as he went. His voice was bland as he spoke, no spark of life in it.

"Suzanne told me to tell you to wait for her here."

Beecher took a step back, just staying out of Keller's way, watching him as he walked out through the curtains. Keller was dangerous right now. The look on his face when Keller had left the gym the day before had frightened Beecher more than he wanted to admit; a reminder of just exactly what Keller was capable. But Keller might just want to watch his own back. Beecher'd gotten his revenge in the past, even if Keller never did know for certain who had stabbed him.

Beecher had been pretty blunt, his anger getting the better of his common sense - telling Keller he wished he'd left him on Death Row. At the time, he'd been lifting weights - high on endorphins and his anger at Keller for setting him up. He'd played it cool; hadn't even slowed down, just went back to the barbell like he told psychopaths he wished they were dead every day. He'd just taken a big dose of the crazy man he used to be; the one that had never totally gone away, and pushed Keller as hard and as far as he could.

He didn't let Keller know it, but the look on Keller's face had chilled him to his core - he'd seen that look before, usually right before someone died. By the time Keller left the gym, Beecher had barely gotten the weights secured before he'd doubled up over the edge of the weight bench, fighting to keep his lunch down. There hadn't been a lot to come up; he hadn't had much of an appetite since he got shoved back into this hell hole. He'd been running on anger - the bitterness of betrayal and his own gullibility had settled in his gut, leaving no room for food.

It hadn't helped that he'd seen Keller and Schillinger in the library and then later again in the cafeteria, sitting together, glancing his way as they talked. He had no idea what kind of game Keller was up to, hanging out with Schillinger, but whatever was going on, he'd have to stay alert - keep his wits about him and stay as far out of both of their ways as possible. But he wouldn't back down, not this time. Never again.

He looked around. The big red velvet and gold throne was just sitting there, so Beecher stepped up onto the platform and took a seat. He'd just study his lines until Suzanne showed up. He was very aware of Keller, as he came back through the curtains, carrying a box of props, but he kept his head down after a quick glance as Keller put his box on the cart. He tried to concentrate on his lines, hoping to avoid any confrontation.

Keller was watching him, he knew, but he kept his face down in his script. He didn't hold out much hope that if he feigned disinterest, Keller would get the hint and leave him alone. But maybe Suzanne would show up before things got too out of hand. Where was she, anyway? The note had been very specific. He needed this extra time, coming into the show so late in the process; he had a lot to catch up on.

"I love props." Keller's voice had humor in it. "What looks real isn't. Like this shank." That got Beecher's attention - Keller had a shank? Oh god, he did. It was the kind made from an uncoiled bedspring, shaped something like an ice pick. Not as sharp as some, but deadly just the same. Beecher reacted quickly, getting off the throne, stepping away from it, to give him room to move. It was a natural reaction in Oz, but still it caught at him, how ready he was these days to assume danger was just around the corner. Being out in the real world hadn't slowed his response time much.

Keller smiled as he took a step toward Beecher. "Ahh!" He turned the shank on himself - stabbing it at his own head to prove its harmlessness, the point retracting into the handle when pressure was applied. "See that? It's fake. At least I know I got your attention now, though."

Keller turned back to his props. Beecher's adrenaline was pumping, but he worked hard to school his face and hide the way his hands wanted to shake. Keller was just trying to unsettle him, get him off balance, but he knew better than to let Keller see him weak. He'd just ignore him; let him know that Beecher could handle his bullshit.

He sat back down in his chair, making a show of going back to his script. "I'm trying to learn my lines." Beecher was relieved that his voice was steady. He laughed to himself; he was a natural actor, but then all lawyers were, weren't they?

Keller was not impressed. "'He speaks and yet he says nothing. What of that?'" Keller grinned at him, showing off the intelligence that few knew he possessed, quoting "Romeo and Juliet" to Beecher with a smirk on his face.

It took Beecher a second or two to recognize the quote; Keller had switched the gender, so he could aim it at Beecher. He thought of snarking back at him (I am not Juliet, thank you.) But that would just encourage him. So he went for the simplest route. "Shut up."

"Oh, okay." Keller was still playing games; Beecher could tell by his attitude, the sound of his voice; so he just went back to his script. His heart beat was slowing; he took a deep breath to help it along. But Keller wasn't through, yet.

"You know, I've always thought actions speak louder then words anyway."

Beecher didn't see where Keller got the other shank from, he just heard the loud banging noise it made hitting the cart, and when he looked up, startled, there it was in Keller's hand. He moved off the throne again as Keller told him:

"Now, this one's real."

Keller took a step in his direction and Beecher didn't even think, he just threw his script at Keller to distract him and stepped in to try and disarm him. He grabbed Keller's knife arm, grappling with him, but he hadn't counted on the hard left cross that came out of nowhere. He felt the blinding pain as Keller's fist made contact with his temple, then everything went black.

Beecher's first thought was of shock and pain, his head reeling. But he had little time to try and sort that out, because he realized three things in quick succession: Keller had his hands around Beecher's neck; there was duct tape over his mouth; and he couldn't move - something was holding his arms securely behind him.

Keller smiled at him. "Time to wake up, Beecher."

"You fucking cocksucker!" It was hard to talk, but enough sound got out that he thought it was worth a try to get someone's attention. He cried out: "Hey, help!" But Keller just reached into his back pocket and pulled out that shank again.

"Shhh." Keller pointed the shank at Beecher's right eye, and he got the hint - he stopped yelling, and jerked his head back, staring at the shank that Keller held less than an inch from his eye. "It's just like the old days, huh?" Keller ran the shank in a line down Beecher's nose as he spoke. "You, as my bitch."

Beecher's heart was pounding, he had no idea if Keller would actually use the shank, but he believed that he was capable of it. He'd told Keller that much in the gym. However, he wasn't going to let it show; if he backed down, Keller won, even if Beecher left the stage alive. He wouldn't give him that satisfaction.

Where Beecher might have given way, the crazy man inside him held firm: "Fuck you." It may have been muffled, but it was clear enough.

" Fuck me." Keller obviously thought that was funny. He smiled as he pulled the second shank out of his left pocket, and pointed one at each eye. "Fake." He indicated the right-hand shank. "Real." The left one. Then he held both of them together, comparing one against the other. "Huh. Or did I get them mixed up? Let's see."

Without warning, Keller shoved the right one into Beecher's torso. He couldn't help but cry out, it happened without his conscious will. The same way his eyes closed a second before he realized there was no pain. It had been the fake one. When he opened his eyes again, his mind insisted on seeing blood red on his chest. It took him a minute to realize that what he was seeing was the scarf, bright crimson hanging around his neck.

Keller threw the shank to the floor behind him, then crouched down in front of Beecher, getting as close as he could between Beecher's spread legs.

"Hope I got your attention now." He wrapped his right hand around Beecher's neck. "Toby..." Keller paused, the shank in his left hand still pointed at Beecher's face, until Beecher looked him in the eye. "Schillinger wants you dead. That's no secret, right?"

Beecher didn't respond. Didn't seem like a lot of reason to. Keller leaned up just long enough to whisper in his ear. "I told him that I would do it." He looked back into Beecher's eyes. "Ask me why."

Beecher didn't know what Keller was doing. If he'd wanted him dead, why didn't he just kill him when he'd knocked him unconscious? It could be he just wanted to play with him first, like a cat plays with its prey before it eats. But it was an awful lot of work to go through, to risk the chance of discovery before he tired of Beecher. He realized Keller was waiting for him to respond when he moved the shank to Beecher's neck. A well placed puncture there and he'd bleed out before anyone could find him.

"Why?" Beecher was breathing hard. He may be crazy, but he knew danger when he saw it.

Keller moved up close again, the shank tapping Beecher's temple briefly, just a reminder. "To keep you alive. That's right. I've been pretending to be Schillinger's butt buddy to keep you safe."

Beecher closed his eyes. Keller's voice was calm, factual. It all sounded so reasonable. He really wished he could still trust Keller enough to believe it, but he'd run out of trust when the cops showed up looking for him, knowing where he'd be and when he'd be there. *That* Beecher, the one who trusted, the one who believed in Keller - believed in love - didn't exist any more. All there was left was a crazy man, with a veneer of calm over a raging inferno.

"To keep you alive, so that you and I would know of his plans." Keller got up and circled around behind him. Touching him like a lover would, fingers in his hair, resting his chin on top of his head. "But I know how-" Keller paused, as if trying to find the least offensive word, "bullheaded you are."

Beecher felt lunatic laughter bubbling up, fought it back down. "Bullheaded." Keller had always told Beecher that was his least attractive trait. At least when it was aimed at Keller. Keller moved, coming around Beecher's right side, face to face again. He felt better when Keller was where he could see him, even when there was nothing he could do about it. Except, maybe kick Keller in the balls. There was a thought. He'd keep his eyes open, in case an opportunity presented itself. He wasn't going down without a fight.

"I knew that if I had told you," Keller put his fists on Beecher's thighs, getting right down into his face, "you wouldn't believe me. I concocted this whole god damned thing just to convince you that I'm on the up and up."

It would be so easy to believe Keller. Beecher really wanted to believe him. But he couldn't. Not now. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see him anymore. Another lunatic thought popped into his head - if I can't see him, he's not there, right? Now he's here - - now he's not.

But Keller kept walking, ending up behind him again, this time placing his left hand over Beecher's heart, over the blood red scarf, as if to indicate his sincerity. As if. Right. What did that indicate about the other hand, the one still holding the shank?

Keller bent over so his mouth was up against Beecher's ear. "Now, if I was really siding with Schillinger, Toby..." Keller's right hand slid down off Beecher's shoulder, then in a sudden move, thrust the shank into the center of Beecher's chest, right under his sternum. Beecher grunted with the shock, as the breath was knocked out of him. "...you'd be dead already."

It took Beecher a moment to realize that the shock he felt was just that. Shock at the suddenness of the attack, shock at the fact that he'd believed his life was over, shock at realizing that once again, the shank had been a fake. He couldn't stop his rapid breathing; he'd be gasping if he could get a breath through his mouth. They were both fake. Neither shank was real. He focused on that. He jumped as the shank went flying back towards the throne he'd been sitting in earlier, loud rattling as it landed. Was there another? What was Keller up to?

"But instead, all I really want," Keller swung around to the front, sitting on Beecher's legs and grabbing his head with one hand as the other ripped the tape off Beecher's face, "...is for you to love me again." Keller kissed him hard, his tongue thrusting into Beecher's mouth, forceful, insistent, unwanted. He couldn't stop it, and he hated to admit it, but a tiny part of him did want it. Wanted Keller back. Missed the closeness they'd shared for too brief a time.

But the rest of him knew better, and fought back the only way left to him, biting down hard, and Keller shouted into his mouth and pulled back, blood in his mouth. There was blood in Beecher's mouth, on his lips. He could taste the brown copper penny flavor, and he laughed, right in Keller's face. Keller's right hand caught him flat handed, the force of the blow pushing his face to the side - hard enough to make his ears ring. He'd always wondered about that saying - now he understood it. It hurt like hell. But it didn't hurt as bad as Keller's betrayal. That had hurt his soul. He was never letting that happen again.

He turned back to see Keller, bloodied left hand at his mouth. He caught Keller's eyes, then licked his lips, grinning like a mad man. Oh, that's right, he was a mad man, wasn't he? God, was he mad. Mad at this place, mad at fate, mad at his family - what there was left of it - mad at God, mad at Keller. But mostly mad at himself. He was a gullible fool, and if he wanted to stay alive in this place, he was going have to let the lunatic out to play. It had worked before, it would work again.

"Don't worry, Keller, it's just a flesh wound. I couldn't get a good enough grip; I didn't get to keep any of it, this time." He spit out blood, spattering it across the stage floor. He pouted a little, "I could have added it to my collection."

Keller spit on the floor, more blood spatters. Like a crime scene, Toby thought. Oh, wait, it is a crime scene. Funny that. Beecher felt little remnants of himself letting go, floating away. If he was going to survive this time, the crazy motherfucker he'd turned into the day Schillinger had marked him for death in the shape of a confederate flag t-shirt was going to have to take over once again. Time for the lawyer and family man, the man who dates teachers and does pro bono work for the needy - time for that man to disappear. Maybe it was time to grow a beard. If he made it out from behind this curtain alive, that is.

Strangely enough, that thought didn't bother him any more. He had to get out, he wasn't through yet. He had plans. He glanced back, just as Keller adjusted himself through his prison issue pants, and it hit him. Keller was turned on by this. He got off on the blood and the violence.

"You sporting wood there, Keller?" He laughed, spit out a little more blood. "I should have known. I should have known. A little kidnapping, assault and battery, that's foreplay to you, isn't it? I'd ask Brice Tibbits, I'm sure he'd know all about it, but strangely enough, he's dead. So's Browne and Shemin, oh, and don't forget your old buddy Ronnie Barlog. Am I next, Keller? When you're through with me, will you break my neck and toss me off to the side like the others?"

"Toby, stop, please." Keller looked worried now; crouching down between Beecher's legs again, hands on his thighs. Keller was practically pleading with him, like it was important that Beecher believe this one last lie. "You've got to listen to me. I have a plan. We can be rid of Schillinger once and for all, problem solved. But you have to trust me."

Beecher laughed. "Well, we might just have a problem then, because your word is for shit."

"Toby. What can I do? Is there anything I can say that would make you believe me? Anything I can do?"



"Suck my cock." It was meant as a throwaway. With all the disdain he had in him. But Keller just grinned, licked his bloodstained lips.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you, Toby? You like it when I suck your cock."

"Yeah, well, you've had lots of experience, haven't you? Lots of time at Lardner, sucking old Vern Baby's cock. Tell me, what does twenty years do? Does he still taste the same after all this time? You know those little grunting noises he makes, right before he shoots his load down your throat? He still do that? Does he let you brush your teeth after he's come in your mouth? Does he shove you face down on your mattress and fuck you dry when he's mad at you? Oh, wait, I forgot, you two are buddies, I'll bet he uses lube when he fucks you up the ass."

Despite his resolve, the fierce anger that drove him, he found his voice breaking on those words, felt his body shaking apart from the inside. Keller had stepped away from him during his rant, pacing behind the red curtain, anger and pain in his face. Showing his actual emotions, not that blank stare, the disarming grin that was seldom real. He saw it for a second there; he'd gotten through to the real Keller, touched the one inside. The man he used to trust.

He had no real belief that he could reach that man again. But it was surprising - no, it was shocking that the man still existed. Maybe there was a possibility - he'd seen him, knew he was still in there somewhere. He appealed to that person, too tired to fight for the moment, too tired to hope, but he said it anyway. He just couldn't seem to stop the words.

"Chris. Please. You said you loved me. If you love me, let me go." Painful, needy words. He hated them as he said them, but he was lost. All that inner anger gone, just the aching need to believe the Keller he loved was still in there, if just for the moment.

Keller went down on his knees, wrapped his arms around Beecher and the chair he was handcuffed to and held on tight, breathing heavily, almost sobbing. "I still love you, Toby. I'll never stop loving you."

"Then let me free. Leave me alone. Let me live."

"I am, Toby. I have a way. I know how to do it. I can fix it so that none of the Aryans ever bothers us again. You just have to believe me, Toby. You just have to trust me."

He wrapped his hand around the back of Beecher's neck and drew him down into a kiss. He should have been afraid after what Beecher had done just a few minutes ago, but he wasn't. Beecher wondered if maybe he'd seen another Beecher take over for a while. He must have seen the switch from Crazy Beecher to the one who wanted desperately to believe in Keller. He wasn't even sure when they'd traded places, himself, but this one, this one let Keller in.

The taste of blood was stronger in Keller's mouth, but he hardly noticed it. It was nice to pretend for just a moment that Chris was still his, was still the man he'd fallen in love with. The one he had trusted his life to. And Keller was putting everything into it, reawakening all his senses, all his memories. He couldn't last for long, this Beecher wasn't that strong, but maybe he could hang on until Keller let him out. He'd get himself free, and that would be enough.

When Keller finally ended the kiss, it took Beecher a moment to regroup. He took a deep breath to clear his mind. "Chris, let me go. Please."

Keller was running kisses down his jaw line, to his neck. To the pulse point, sucking hard. Leaving his mark. "I love you Toby. You do believe me, don't you?"

Beecher sighed. "I've never doubted that, Chris. That's not the problem."

Keller had pushed Beecher's t-shirt up, was running his hands on the chilled bare skin beneath, that damned red scarf sliding slickly over his skin. His fingers streaking heat across his chest, pulling on his nipples, pinching them lightly. Keller knew what Beecher liked, how to get him so hard he practically exploded. He'd done it so many times. His mouth was back on Beecher's pulse point. There was no way that wasn't going to leave a mark.

Beecher tried to get Keller to focus on the handcuffs, but he wasn't listening - his mouth moving across Beecher's collar bone, his shirt rucked up under his armpits. When he reached Beecher's nipples, Keller knew just what to do, hard suction and gentle tugs with his teeth, and now that his hands were free, he'd started to work on Beecher's pants.

"No, Chris. Stop. Get me out of these cuffs, first. I don't want to do this with the cuffs on. Please!" The alarm in his voice should have gotten through by now, but Keller just ignored it, his mouth back on Beecher's, kissing him the way he did, the way he knew Beecher could never resist.

"Can't you feel it, Toby?" He whispered into Beecher's ear, his hand worming its way into Beecher's pants, caressing the hard flesh inside. Beecher was so frustrated; he couldn't believe he'd gotten hard under these circumstances. He felt like Pavlov's dog; Keller kisses him and he gets a boner. "It's there, every time we kiss, Toby. It's like lightening, like an electrical charge. I know you feel it too; you're hard for me, aren't you? We belong together, Toby, we always have."

"No. Keller. Chris, stop it! Let me go!" He'd really thought Keller would listen to him, would set him free before things got this far. He didn't want it, not like this, not held against his will. Not at all, to be honest; he didn't want to be reminded of what he could never have again. But especially not like this. He struggled wildly, hoping the struggle would disturb him, remind Keller what he was doing, but nothing seemed to work.

Keller had Beecher's pants pulled down enough to free his cock and balls, and he bent over and licked the crown, right across the slit, flickering around the edges, across the bundle of nerves at the base of the crown. One hand pumping the shaft, the other rolling his balls gently, cupping them in his palm.

God, Beecher had missed this. The times he'd been apart from Keller in the past, when they had sex again, it always took him by surprise. It was a sort of recognition - his body remembering: oh, yeah. This guy can really suck cock. But it was more than that; his hands on Beecher's body, they just set him aflame, every time. It was Keller, whatever crazy thing it was that made the man who he was; it set Beecher's blood to boiling.

Beecher had given up trying to talk to him; he loved it when Keller did that thing with his tongue, that flicker around the crown - yeah, just like that. Oh, god, what was he doing? He should yell out, hope a hack was passing through the cafeteria, and would consider it worth his trouble to check it out. But knowing Keller, he'd probably bought off a couple of guards. There wouldn't be anyone by. And if he cried out, Keller would tape his mouth again. He didn't want that. Right now, his voice was his only weapon.

And Keller, oh god, Keller was sucking on the head of his cock, his fist pumping his shaft, giving it a twist at the top before his fist came back down again. Keller knew him so well. That was guaranteed to make Beecher blow his top, every time. His hips started to move of their own accord, thrusting up into Keller's mouth; it wouldn't be long, now.

But then, Keller just stopped. He raised his head and took Beecher's mouth again, powerful, possessive. And when the kiss ended, all Beecher could say was "Please. Please." Not even sure what he was asking for at this point. But Keller got up, and stepped behind him. Crouching down he undid the cuffs, then he came back around to the front and helped Beecher pull his arms out of the slots in the chair they'd been threaded through.

His arms ached from the awkward position they'd been held in, burning and tingling as blood flowed back into numb limbs. Keller came back around and knelt between Beecher's knees again. He pulled Beecher in for another kiss, even more passionate than before. Beecher knew he had to do something, now that he was free, but it was hard to concentrate. His arms were practically useless, and he was shaking from the stress and the adrenaline rush, and Keller had one hand on his hard-on, and if he kept stroking like that, Beecher was going to come all over both of them in about ten seconds.

Keller pulled Beecher off the chair, down onto his knees, murmuring words that Beecher realized now meant nothing. Maybe they'd meant something once, maybe they'd always been lies and he was just too much of a fool to recognize it. "Don't worry, Toby. I'd never do anything to hurt you. I know you want me, it's alright, Toby, I'll take care of you. You're okay. You're safe with me. You can trust me." Lies, all of them. They sounded pretty, but they only made sense if you were a fool. And Beecher may be crazy, but he was no fool. He laughed out loud at that.

"Shhh...its okay, Toby. I'm here. You're safe with me." Keller pushed him down to the floor, pulling off his shoes, pants and underwear in rapid succession.

"Wait. What are you doing? No. Keller. Stop." Beecher started to panic then, when he realized what Keller had in mind. No. He did not want this. Keller wanted to fuck him; he was not going to let him do that. Not now. Not after everything Keller had done. He could never forgive Keller for betraying him; he'd never trust him again. He had to get out of here, had to leave now. He tried to fight him, but his arms were slow, uncoordinated, and Keller easily overpowered him. Pushing him onto his back, straddling his waist, holding him down.

"Its okay, Toby. No one will bother us here. We still have another hour. The rehearsal doesn't start until three, and the guards will leave us alone until 2:30. It's okay, I took care of it, we're okay." Purposefully misunderstanding him. It couldn't be real, could it? Could he actually believe this was what Beecher wanted? Keller stretched out on top of him, holding him down, kissing him hard, taking everything from him. Everything.

Keller's hands roamed over him, rough, powerful, making it hard to think. He'd always loved Keller's possessive hands, loved the way he'd held him firm, his solid weight keeping him anchored, keeping him from just disintegrating into the air under Keller's sure touch. But now those same strong hands frightened him, held him too close. He felt like he would break apart, but this time it was with fear.

"No." It happened just that quickly, sweet Sentimental Beecher stepped down, and Crazy Beecher was back. Fuck this. He wasn't taking that crap from anyone. He wrestled with Keller briefly, figuring out where his strengths lay, and his weaknesses.

Keller was struggling with his pants, which were down around his knees. There was something in his pocket. He rolled slightly to one side, reaching back, and just as he pulled the small tube of lube free, Beecher struck. He kneed Keller in the groin. He didn't have a good angle, it was only a glancing blow, but it got Keller off him, lying flat on his back for just a moment, stunned, that damned scarf lying beneath him, a swath of red on the wooden floor. Beecher laughed as he landed on top of Keller, sitting on his pelvis, his forearm across Keller's throat.

"I think you need a lesson in Political Correctness, there, Keller. When I say no, I mean no. Got it?"

"What? Toby, what the hell are you talking about? Get off me."

"I told you no. I don't want your hands on me. I don't want your mouth on me. I don't want you to fuck me. Is that clear?"

Keller grinned. Even pinned to the floor, he was a sexy motherfucker. "You like it when I get rough. It turns you on. I turn you on." Keller ground his hips suggestively up into Beecher's ass.

Aw, shit. Seemed like there wasn't a Beecher in there that didn't have a weakness for Keller's deep blue eyes and that suggestive leer. Beecher glanced down at his cock, which was definitely back on the upswing. Slut. Beecher pushed his hips back down in a little roll of his pelvis. Keller's eyes unfocused for just a second, as he appreciated that move. "Oh, yeah, I can see that you like that. You want some more?"

"Yes, I want more. I want you, Toby."

Beecher's grin got wider, toothier, more dangerous. "You can have me, Keller." He grabbed the tube out of Keller's hands and kneeled up, pulling his weight off Keller's hips and his arm from across Keller's neck. "Roll over."

Keller's eyes opened wide, he hadn't thought about this option, obviously. He thought he had the power here; thought Beecher was an easy mark. Well, not anymore. Keller was dealing with the new improved Beecher, now. This one came loaded, baby, extra balls, no additional charge.

Beecher sat back down and rolled his hips again; he could feel Keller's hard-on, pressing up against his ass. Keller moaned and Beecher just grinned. Hard as nails, wasn't that the saying? Yeah, Keller wanted it; he just didn't know it yet. Beecher leaned over, staring down into his dark eyes, Beecher's pelvis rolling up against him, a slow seductive pulse. He whispered into Keller's ear, "I'm gonna fuck you now, Chris. Roll over, like a good little boy."

Keller grabbed his face, pulling him into a searing kiss, hotter than hell, and full of promise and just the slightest tinge of blood. But instead of letting go, Keller grabbed on tight and tried to swing himself over Beecher, tried to knock Beecher off balance, roll himself back on top. But Beecher knew what he was up to. Keller may have the advantage of muscle mass, but Beecher had the superior position, and he wasn't giving up the upper hand for anything.

The two grappled for a while, wrestling, fighting for control, but Beecher knew Keller's struggles were futile. He had what he wanted in the palm of his hand; he wasn't going to let it slip through his fingers. He wasn't the pushover Keller thought he was. Not anymore. And even though Keller wasn't making it easy on him, he wasn't fighting full out either. He had a feeling Keller was enjoying the battle. If Keller didn't want this, he would have tried harder to get away. Looked like Keller liked a little rough and tumble. Well, he was more than glad to provide.

They both were naked from the waist down by this point, and due to Keller's superior weight, he was having trouble getting Keller to go belly down. Toby was holding his own, he wasn't in danger of landing on bottom, himself, but he was going to have to try a different strategy to get Keller where he wanted him. And he knew just what weapon he needed. Like any good self-respecting lawyer, he knew where his strong point lay: he used his tongue. They were face to face, now, thrusting hard, their cocks sliding between them; almost enough to get them off, but too slippery with their sweat to get enough friction.

Beecher kissed him again, hard and deep. "I want you Keller, I want your ass. And if I can't fuck it, I'll take it any way I can get it, baby. What do you say to my tongue and your asshole? You like that idea, Chris? You want my tongue reaming you out? Will you let me fuck you with my tongue, Keller? Can I fuck you with my tongue?" Keller groaned loudly.

"Oh, god, Toby, you know I love that." And that was all it took. Beecher smirked as Keller rolled over on his hands and knees and stuck his ass in the air. He laughed out loud, this was gonna be a breeze. He started out with his tongue, licking and sucking around the puckered edge, his tongue flattening out as he took wide swipes, then curling to a point, using his tongue like a battering ram, stiffened and eager to get inside. And Keller was so into it, moaning and thrusting back, pushing Beecher for more, crying out with need.

But while his tongue was busy on Keller's ass, his hands had other plans, slicking up his cock with the lube he had stolen from Keller's hand, straining, reaching for that damned red scarf, pulling it in with the tips of his fingers, drawing it closer, until it was in place, just where he needed it, already looped and ready to go. Once Beecher was ready for the final assault, he started pushing harder with every thrust of his tongue into Keller's ass, pushing him harder, pressing Keller further until finally, with one last shove, he knocked Keller off his hands and knees, flat onto the wooden stage floor, his breath whooshing out of him in a loud grunt.

With his weight on Keller's back, he grabbed Keller's right hand, pulling it behind him and pulling the loop around his wrist tightly. Keller realized what he was doing, and he bucked up, trying to dislodge Beecher and at the same time, pull his left arm underneath his body to make it harder to get hold of. But Beecher saw that move coming and had his left hand secured behind him, the scarf pulled as tight as he could get it around his wrists, before Keller could stop him.

He pushed his knees between Keller's legs, forcing them apart, while Keller cried out, "No! Toby, stop!"

But he didn't stop. Beecher just laughed in his ear, "What was that I said earlier about no meaning no? Did you learn anything from that lesson, Keller? Does this make it any clearer? Is this what you want? Good thing you paid those hacks to ignore us in here, isn't it? You can shout as loud as you like, no one will hear you. Here, how about some of this?"

He shoved two slippery fingers in Keller's ass as Keller struggled, fighting him, but with his hands behind his back, he could get no purchase on the polished wooden floor, and when Beecher curled his fingers, brushing his knuckles against Keller's prostate, Keller's hips pushed forward, and he moaned loud and long.

Two fingers became three, and Beecher stretched him cruelly, scissoring his fingers, opening him up. Getting him ready. But he hesitated when it came right down to it, he wasn't sure he could do it, could he fuck Keller without his consent? Even after the way Keller had screwed him over, had fucked his life up so badly he'd never be the same, he didn't think he could do it. Even now, even Crazy Beecher was hesitating, not sure he could do that.

But Keller wasn't fighting him anymore. He was grunting, and shoving his hips back onto Beecher's fingers, spreading his legs wider, and when Beecher pulled his fingers out, Keller shouted. Cried out.

"Fuck me, Toby. Come on. Fuck me. Do it. I want to feel you inside me. Do it, now."

Suddenly Beecher's fingers were trembling, his body aching, his hands shook as he positioned himself over Keller. He wanted this so badly. Then he pushed his way inside, not slowly, not carefully, he shoved all the way in with one brutal stroke. Keller shouted again, a wordless cry that was just as full of pain as it was of pleasure. Beecher didn't stop, just pulled out and thrust back in, the hard slap of his flesh meeting Keller's loud in his ear, almost as loud as the grunts he pushed out of Keller, the rush of his breath being forced out of his lungs.

But Keller met him, move for move, shoving back as hard as he could in his current position. He probably could have gotten better purchase, could have met Beecher's force with an equal one of his own if his hands were untied, but Beecher somehow knew that part of the thrill of this, part of the charge for both of them, was the way Keller was bound. Helpless to fight back, forced to take the battering Beecher was giving him, no choice as to what Beecher did, no choice but to lie there and take it, take everything Beecher needed to give.

And Beecher was more than willing to give it. All his anger, all his frustration, all of his horror at being back in this living hell, all his disappointment at being betrayed by the one he thought he could trust, everything - he put it all there on Keller. Pounding into him, pouring all his pent-up emotions, all that aggression, all that angry energy; he'd found the perfect receptacle, the perfect vessel for all his pain. And he gave it all to Keller, and Keller took it, and took it.

It wasn't about sex, not for Beecher, anyway. It was about release, catharsis, deliverance, and it was the only way he could think of to let it happen. In the end, Keller gave him back his freedom, not from Oz, but from himself. And as the anger poured out, as Keller took it from him, there was absolution. In the end, as they moved together, their bodies hot and slick and trembling together on the brink, it was that which took Beecher over, his breath ragged and his muscles shaking, the peaking of his pleasure a pale shadow of his release from the hatred that had been consuming him.

He lay there gasping, feeling Keller's fast, panting breaths, Keller's racing heartbeat pounding against Beecher's chest, their tempo out of sync with each other, rhythms competing, but somehow still in agreement. Beecher laughed at that, and rolled off Keller's back. Keller didn't speak, didn't remind Beecher he was still there, tied up, bound with that damned red scarf. But Beecher was aware of him, and after a moment or two to catch his breath and stop the worst of the trembling in his hands, he turned on his side, and started to work on the knots Keller had pulled tight in his passion.

It took a minute or two, but finally his hands came free, and Keller turned over, surprising Beecher by reaching for him, gathering him up in his arms and whispering in Beecher's ear as he lay there shaking from the shock of it all, the power of his release.

"I love you, Toby."

"I know, Chris. I know."

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