There's A Riot Going On	     [Home | Quicksearch | Search Engine |
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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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