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All thanks go to my beta Ozsaur, 'cause she's my hero and shit.
Written for the Live Journal Community HardTime100's Challenge #74: Wet.
This is slightly AU version of the riot at the end of Season One. In this version, they did not put the wounded in the shower room, and there was at least half an hour between the time Said gets Adebisi and the homeboys tied up and the time the SORT team shows up.
Inspired by "Riot In Cell Block Number Nine” by Leiber & Stoller, as sung by The Blues Brothers.

There's A Riot Going On

by dustandroses

Oh man, it's hot in Em City. This place is going up in flames! And I'm gonna be here to watch it burn. Think I can toss old Vern baby on the bonfire? But I can't lose control. I promised O'Reily - gotta watch his back. I need to cool down - pour some cold water over my head, that'll help. At least the water is still running. Maybe they think we'll drown ourselves, so they won't have to send in the SORT team. I can see the headlines now: Inmates Drown In Riot, Too Stupid To Turn Off Showers.

Water runs down Beecher's bare skin in streams, sliding over sturdy shoulders, defined pecs - Beecher's been working out since he's been here. He'll never bulk up like the muscle heads, but he doesn't need to, he's got speed and intelligence going for him. Yeah, definitely a wise choice on my part to team up with Beecher. And he's crazier than shit; who the hell wants to mess with that? Beecher flings his head back from the shower he's been under, spraying everything in a 20 foot radius. "Damn, Beecher, if I'd wanted a shower, I'd have brought a towel!"

"There's a riot going on, up on cell block number nine..." Oh yeah, I really needed this shower, get this taint off my skin. Sometimes this place makes me feel so fucking dirty. Like I'm some kind of leper or something. The whole time with that Nazi fuck, I felt like I needed to shower four or five times a day. Every time he touched me, every time he looked at me. Unclean. He never let me brush my teeth after I gave him a blowjob. Sick Bastard. Sometimes I brush them a dozen times a day now, just remembering.

C'mon, Beecher, hurry up. Stop singing and just take your fuckin' shower. Don't wanna be swinging your dick around when they send in the troops. I look over, watch him scrub his body, the suds running down his back, flowing over his ass. His soapy hands rubbing over his dick and balls. Jesus! I can't believe I got a hard-on watching Beecher in the shower. It's gotta be nerves. Tension's so thick you could cut it. Maybe I should take a shower too. A cold one. Get my head clear. I gotta pay attention, now. Watch the door, not Beecher.

This is like The Twilight Zone - I keep looking for Rod Serling. Adebisi howling for tits, a Catholic Priest in handcuffs and Ryan O'Reily has a hard-on in the shower. I should be watching the door, not O`Reily. I can see the water run off his belly, down into his dark pubes and off the tip of his dick. It's a little disturbing. I wish I hadn't put my clothes back on. I want to walk over and run my lips down his chest. Lick the water off his nipples. - Shut up, Adebisi, just shut the fuck up!

Beecher hands me a towel, I wrap it around my waist to hide my hard-on. Cold water didn't help. Beecher's eyes are dark and hooded, like when we used to get high together. It's like we're back in my pod: he leans in close, almost touching, looks in my eyes. But I can't read him any more. Then he bends over and flicks a drop of water off my nipple with his tongue. Jesus, that feels good! My dick pokes out of the towel. He reaches down, grips me and starts to stroke. I can't believe how hard I am.

"Jesus!" That seems to be all O'Reily can say at the moment; he just keeps repeating it. I suck hard on the tip of his cock, swirling my tongue around the head, then rub it up against the little knot of nerve endings under the crown. "Jesus!" I swallow him down to the root, massaging his dick with my throat as he shoots his load into my gut. "Damn, Beecher! Ever heard of a gag reflex?" I cross to the sink - splash water over my face. "Vern beat that out of me a long time ago." "Sorry, Beecher. Shit."

Beecher turns away from me, hunting for his towel. I hand it back to him, and he wipes the water from his face. I wrap one arm around his waist as my other hand reaches down to unzip his fly, and pull down his pants. He looks up at me surprised, "You don't have to..." But I do. It's only fair. I'm a little nervous, I've never done this before. I take his dick in my hand. When he leans in to me, his kiss is wet and sloppy, his beard is scratchy. Can I taste myself on his lips?

At first, he touches my dick like it's going to bite him, but then he gets a rhythm going and he starts getting into it. His hand is firm and solid, and it feels good. I lean on him a little, my face hidden in his neck, my breathing ragged. It doesn't take long before I'm coming all over his hand. I shudder, and lean up against the wall. O'Reily crosses to the sink to wash his hands and splash water on his face. He looks up at the mirror. He seems surprised to see Ryan O`Reily, not some stranger.

Beecher hands me back that same towel. I wipe the water off my face, dry my hands. It seems like I ought to look different somehow. Like you should be able to tell I kissed a man, held his dick in my hand and felt him come over my fingers. But those are still my eyes staring out at me from the mirror. I still feel like me. Beecher steps up behind me, hands me my pants and shirt. I pull them on and just then the lights go out. "Shit! This is it! Come on, Beecher, let's go!"

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