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Warning: dubious consent
This is just an interlude, but it was originally meant to be part of a larger AU where Chris basically took Metzger's role in the show.

The Lion Lair

by eggy

The door opens with a sharp wail of rust and metal against concrete. Tobias winces and starts at the sound, but he doesn't turn around, just stays still with his forehead against the grimy wall.

"Officer Keller," he croaks as Chris steps inside. His voice is rough with disuse, with breathing in the moldy air. "It can't possibly be time to go already."

His eyes rake automatically over Beecher's body and Tobias feels a chill down his spine and shudders, pressing reflexively closer to the wall. "Not quite," Chris says, smiling slightly.

"It smells like blood in here," Beecher says. "Blood and piss." He peers over his shoulder, his eyes dark like wet wounds. All Chris smells is sex. His hand slides to cup Beecher's hipbone and Beecher moves compliantly to face him. Sharp eyes search his face, and when Beecher's mouth twists into a sneer, Chris knows he's been found lacking. "How is dear old Vern?" Beecher asks.

"Still in critical condition," Chris says, distracted with mapping Beecher's skin, the cuts and bruises, and he knows just where to press to make Beecher hiss with remembered pain. He thinks of broken bones and blood and all that's between them and kisses Beecher hard.

Tobias growls and shoves him away, as if he's not naked and helpless, as if Chris doesn't have every advantage. Chris slams Beecher back against the wall. With his arm pressed tightly to Beecher's throat, he kisses him again.

"Miss me?" Beecher says like he's sticking a shank in Chris' side, the words coming breathless and harsh like gravel. Chris can taste Beecher acrid on his tongue, sharp and dizzying.

Toby is a lock he has yet to jimmy. He's sure there's something he can touch in Beecher, a promise that keeps him doggedly pursuing this parody of a courtship (difficult because he can't take Beecher home with him, because he only has him from when his shift begins to when it ends).

Silently daring Beecher to resist, Chris slides a knee between Beecher's legs, starched cotton scraping against sensitive skin. Beecher's eyes narrow venomously, but his hips cant up. He hates Chris more than he ever hated Vern because Chris wants so much more, because Chris makes him enjoy it, twists him into an aching creature of need.

"You will send him my regards, won't you?" Beecher says acidly, sounding far away to Chris, his senses already hazy with want.

"If he dies..." Chris whispers, his fingers trailing over Beecher's ribs, spidery and ticklish. The threat insinuates itself between them, nestling into the cracks.

"You stabbed him," Beecher says, his voice echoing in the small cell, loud like he's hoping someone will magically overhear.

"For you."

An angry flush creeps across Beecher's face. "I didn't ask you to kill him."

"Oh, yes you did, baby," Chris says, shifting closer and Beecher shivers as the cold metal of Chris' belt buckle digs into his belly. "You came to me and asked me to help you." Back when Tobias thought he had found a friend, the one sympathetic CO in this hellhole, but he had just been dragged farther away from salvation.

Chris blinks his eyes and sees Vern's reptilian smile. He thinks of those callous hands holding him down so long ago. He thinks of Beecher's brand and wants to burn his own mark over it.

"I got rid of him for you," Chris breathes into the curve of Beecher's neck. His thumb strokes an arc across Beecher's thigh to feel the muscle spasm beneath.

"Oh, that's right," Beecher smirks. "I owe you." A flash of teeth barely warns Chris that he's planning something and then Beecher drops to his knees, hard and graceless.

It's like a dream, slow like molasses and fuzzy around the edges, looking down at those strong fingers undoing his belt. He'll never get used to the uniform. The words fucking hack still run through his mind when he catches himself in a mirror and he can see them in the snarls of all the prisoners in Oz.

Chris strokes Beecher's hair absently. The touch makes Tobias toss his head like a colt. The rebuff causes a tendril of rage to unfurl in Chris' chest, but he relents and folds his arms against the wall, curved above Beecher like he's enclosing him in brackets.

Beecher's eyes gleam as he tugs Chris' pants down to his ankles. Chris doesn't care whether it's lust or hate because either way at least he knows Beecher burns for him. He wonders how Beecher would look at him if he knew about Lardner, wonders why Beecher doesn't see Schillinger's imprint on his skin.

He's already half hard from the tease of Beecher so close, the anticipation of it. Toby cocks an eyebrow like he's seeing a weakness and Chris hates that he's so vulnerable and still, still Beecher refuses to acknowledge his feelings, to believe he's sorry.

Beecher's fist encircles his cock and his tongue teases the head. Clammy hands clench into fists to keep from grabbing and hurting Beecher with his mounting desire. Chris rests his head against his forearms to better watch the shift of Beecher's shoulder blades while Beecher sucks him off, the nape of his neck as he bobs his head.

And it's not as good as pushing Beecher onto his back and pressing his knees to his chest would be, but Chris is begging for scraps and he'll take what he can get. He thinks of coaxing Beecher open for him--taking his sweet time until they're both shaking and feverish, helpless with wanting it.

"I'd do anything for you," he murmurs, knowing that it's a lie because he has too much to lose. There's no way he's ending up on the other side of the bars again.

Beecher peers up at him, his expression mocking. An edge of frustration pierces the pure, warm bliss of Beecher's mouth. "You know, I never thanked Vern for teaching you this," Chris can't resist saying. Beecher's brow furrows and Chris gets a slight prickle of teeth in retribution.

It just makes Chris smile, though, and he lets himself relax, listening to the obscene, wet noises Beecher makes. "Come on," Chris grunts, jerking his hips forward. Beecher swallows around him and there's a fluttering touch of fingers on the back of his knee and Chris bites his arm hard to keep himself quiet.

It feels like a loss every time Beecher makes him come--so cold and imperious in the face of Chris' overwhelming pleasure. He wants to collapse boneless into Beecher's embrace, but instead he tugs Beecher up by his elbow to stare wildly into flat, lifeless eyes.

Something pulses beneath the surface, though, and Chris leans in to nuzzle at Beecher's neck, hand spreading wide over his chest. He thrills at Beecher's sharp intake of breath and presses his advantage, his other hand traces down Beecher's spine, in to where Schillinger ripped him open so many times before. His hold tightens around Beecher's arm, digging into his flesh. "You love me."

Toby sweats and trembles and doesn't quite manage to keep himself from arching against Chris' fingers. "You're awfully sure of yourself," he grits out.

Chris leans forward to press their foreheads together. Beecher's expression suddenly turns wary. "You haven't gone to McManus or Glynn," he breathes. "You haven't killed me."

Beecher's eyes shift to the floor. He looks ashamed and murderous and Chris just feels so much that he thinks his chest might burst. He's crooning mindlessly into Beecher's ear, telling him everything he could have if he'd only ask and he crooks his fingers inside of Toby and strokes his cock with his other hand until Beecher surrenders and drops his head to Chris' shoulder to hide his face. His entire body seizes with the reluctance of his release.

Chris wipes his hand off on Beecher's stomach, his smile smug. "I like it when you're in the hole," Chris grins, licking Beecher's shoulder.

"Asshole," Beecher says tiredly. It's suddenly clear that the skin beneath his eyes is smudged and dark and his face is haggard and unshaven. "You can't keep me in here indefinitely."

"It's just until McManus decides what to do with you." Until Chris can convince him that Beecher belongs in protective custody or solitary, somewhere convenient. He pats Beecher's cheek and makes a show of straightening his uniform.

"You're going to fuck up, Keller," Tobias murmurs when he's at the door. Chris pauses and turns to see a feral expression on Beecher's face. "You're going to fuck up and I'm going to be there to make sure you burn, you bastard."

Chris just blows him a kiss and shuts the door hard on his way out.

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