Four Square 

FOUR SQUARE
 by November Tuesday  

After the Inquisition it hits me, that this woman, with her soft dark hair
and her curves, has given me a hard on since day one and I don't feel one
bit of remorse. Cheating on Chris? Be real. Granted, sticking my dick
elsewhere was tantamount to fingering some poor motherfucker for death,
but the idea of fidelity in Oz? It's laughable.  

 Fuck him. He told me to stay away from him, away from Cedar Junction.
Fuck him. But the real reason I have no qualms is this: I can see it clear
as day. Keller taking one look at Katherine, undressing her with his gaze,
looking at those sweet tits and legs, then winking conspiratorially at me
and drawling "go nail her, Toby."

 Life in Oz shuts you down. Hope is not only obsolete, but hope will fuck
you up. Still, when she looked at me and said "we're not finished, Tobias"
my dick popped up and hope popped up and it hit me - outside. Outside of
Oz. And I was edgy and wound up all week.

 Walking into my parole hearing with a seven-inch boner probably didn't
help.

 That kiss. Oh my god. Her hands on my chest, tugging my tie, looking up
at me with those soft wide eyes, and I was wooden and panicked and stupid,
until I felt her breath on my face. But then, oh man, I kissed her. Then I
was real and flesh and natural, and I felt right in my own skin. I smelled
her perfume, coffee and vague mint, a minute slip of tongue, so sweet, and
there were flashes of Chris in my mind, and Gen, but her mouth was so
small and softly perfect, and fuck me, it was like being at the center of
a giant vortex, her kissing me, that hack calling me, the waiting parole
board and at the center of it all were her lips and my lips, so soft and- 

 Hard, he is so hard. Lips hard on my mouth and hands and tight in my
hair, bending me backwards, dammnit, and god help me but I love it, love
him, even after all of it, I want to kiss him. I want the world to go
away, all the walls and the rules and the past, and everything but this
complete brutality. 

 And I hate him, because I can't, because I have to push him away. I hate
him for tearing me in two like this. 

 I push away, call for the CO. "Take him away." Try to steady my breath,
my voice, my brain. But that night in bed I idly trace the edges of my
lips and remember the feel of his mouth. 

 I haven't had a chance to answer his hardness with my own. This is what
bothers me the most. He thinks I'm this angel, this soft, sweet healer. I
want so fucking much to allow myself to respond. To show him I can be
anything but, to savage him, brutalize him, fuck him. And it wouldn't be
healing. At least not for him. 

 Under cover of dark and a new bed Preston never saw I indulge myself in
it. Close my eyes against the night. These fantasies. My kiss would make
his lips bleed. So hard, and totally - 

 Totally unprofessional. 

 I've been obsessed with his case from the beginning. He's a legend at the
courthouse. He lost his wife, his kid, and his cherry. It's the stuff of
rumor and legend. They tell fresh interns the story of Joe Lawyer, who
could be any one of us. The guy who rebelled against his Nazi master,
almost took out his eye, shat on his face. The guy who had every limb
broken, then fell in love with the guy who did it.

 I never met Chris Keller. The thought of them together intrigues me,
disturbs me, arouses me all at once . What is it like when a man kisses a
man?

 The fascination galvanized when I saw him. The brute, cross-armed slouch
of the convict, muscles latent, threatening, arousing under his tee shirt.
Almost delicate high forehead, hair with a hint of gold. Sharp alert baby
eyes that see too much, intelligence forged at Harvard. Holy shit, a
lawyer, just like me. Broken down eyes. Sensual lips pulled into a weighty
frown, lines on his face betraying a sorrow that couldn't quite swallow
the hope in those blue eyes.

 I wanted to break him, put tears in those eyes, pull him to my breast in
a warm nest of comfort, all at once.

 This, I didn't realize, analyze until later.

 My immediate, sole, and overwhelming perception was this: I wanted to
fuck Tobias Beecher to within an inch of his life.

 I planned to kiss him, planned it from day one. I wanted his mouth on me,
all over me. Tugged his silk tie to steady myself, for one horrific second
I thought he would turn away. Then, he was kissing me, tasting me as I'd
fantasized, and I felt the sweet alarming sensation of being explored,
tasted- 

Tasting those lips I've waited so long to kiss. Oh, Gloria, please kiss
me, kiss me back. For one sweet second she gave in, on sweet perfect
second, and I stretch it out in my mind as I touch myself, jerk myself. 

 Imagine us the fuck out of Oz, someplace in a home with a different
universe, imagine her at a kitchen counter dropping a spoon or something,
and kissing me back. 

 I can still taste her lips. Oh god. My dick pulses, squeezes precum to
the tip. I close my eyes hard, pretend with all my might , taste her
again. I'm jerking hard, and it is her hand. Close my eyes so hard, my
face hurts hard enough to see her in front of me, those eyes, oh christ,
those eyes. 

 Faster, I'm almost nailing it, oh yeah, and god, I'm coming, coming into
her and kissing her all at once. 

 After, come all over my stomach, I come back to reality, I realize that
that kiss will fucking kill me. 

 That I want him out of this so that he can kiss me everywhere, touch me,
and it's not going to happen.

 That I can't touch him, but I have to touch him.

 That sweet hope is the death of me. Her fucking lips, damn her. Another
fucking year, page and page and page.