Author: Jenn

Rating: NC-17

Pairing(s): K/B, K/Ry, B/Ry

Type: M/M Slash

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they are sole property of Tom Fontana but I don't think that I’m doing anything to them that he hasn't done...The only difference is that I'm not getting paid to do it.

PART 1

"I owe you, Keller. I fuckin' owe you big!"

*Fuck! * Ryan immediately realized that he should have been more careful with his words. Though he tried to play them off as if they were just that, words, Ryan knew that in Oz that particular statement carried with it a high price. Keller knew that his life had been on the line--one word from that guy and he would have been on death row.

It was just dumb luck really, that Keller had had his own "issues" with the inmate and did away with him before the schmuck had time to go to McManus with Ryan's business. But he had to open his big fuckin' mouth.

Unfortunately, there was no way around it, Keller had done him a favor by his own avowal, and Ryan could tell by the look in his eyes that not only had he heard the profession of debt, but he would indeed be coming to collect.

***********************************************************

"Give it a rest, Toby, I'd like to get some sleep tonight," Chris mumbled burying his face deeper into his pillow.

A tentative hand slowly slid between the mattress and its grouchy occupant. "Come on, Chris," Beecher teased, "you know that you can't say no to me."

Without opening his eyes Chris grabbed his lover's wrist and gently pushed it away. "Shit I've created a monster," he muttered.

Rolling onto his back, Toby sighed dramatically. "So the romance is gone, huh? Just like that it's time for me to find myself another lover?" He snickered mockingly.

Finding Toby's attempt at jealously extremely funny, Keller laughed. "Oh yeah, who?"

Toby's brow crinkled. "I don't know, it's been a long time since I've had to think about it."

The pod grew silent for a minute or two until, slowly, Beecher's words penetrated Chris' consciousness.

*Toby was giving the question serious consideration!*

"Wait, are you trying to tell me that you've thought about this before? You've thought about being with another man," he stated in disbelief.

Suddenly Tobias realized that he had never told anyone what had gone on in his head during those lonely and confusing times in Oz, during and after Schillinger. Those times when "Crazy Beecher's" only real friends were a vial of heroin and…

"Ryan." The name was uttered with such fondness, softly, and more to himself than to Chris, who was now staring at him with his mouth agape.

"O'Reily…" Chris repeated incredulously. Toby remained silent, almost as if he were suddenly unaware of his lover's presence, so Chris continued. "Ryan-I'm not a fag and I'll crack open your skull if you so much as look at me-O'Reily?" he double- checked.

"Huh-"

The initial shock over *his* Toby having had eyes for another man, though mind blowing as it was, was temporarily placed on the back burner as Chris realized that his lover was lost in a particularly pleasant memory--one that he wasn't penetrating at the moment.

"I mean, granted he's hot and all, but you and O'Reily, get real, Beech."

Brought out of his reverie by the mocking tone of Chris' voice, Toby interjected, "It wasn't like that, Chris," defensively.

*It?*

Slowly, a sly smile crossed Chris' face; so…there existed another side to his sweet little law-boy that he had not previously been aware of, a darker side. "Then what *was* it like, Beech? Tell me."

Toby's brow furrowed as he answered his lover rather curtly while attempting to stand up. "I hate it when you do that. You make everything sound so sordid!"

"And you're getting defensive," Chris laughed tauntingly. Playfully, he rolled on top of Toby and captured his face in his hands forcing his tongue past those sweet, pouting lips.

Heated and out of breath, Chris reluctantly pulled away and looked deep into Toby's eyes. "Did you fuck him, Beech?"

"Shit, Chris-"

Before Toby could say much more, two halting fingers pressed down gently against his lips. Chris' voice grew hoarse as it reverberated thickly from the back of his throat.

"No Toby, I *want* to know. *Really…*" As the fingers slowly withdrew, Toby realized that Chris had ulterior motives. It seemed that the conversation was beginning to turn him on.

***********

Getting Chris riled *was* what Toby had wanted to begin with, but this he almost didn't want to share with him. The feelings that he had harbored for Ryan were so personal, so intense, and had been locked away for so long. It was almost as if talking about them aloud would cheapen them, and if talking about them didn't, he was sure that Chris would find a way to. Not only that, but Chris could be extremely overprotective when he wanted to be…and sometimes when he didn't.

Besides, Toby would also have to bring himself back to those earlier days in Oz, times that were still very painful for him to think about, even now, but he could understand why Chris wanted to know. He had always been a bit surprised that Chris hadn't asked about it sooner.

***********

Beecher's laugh was soft. "No, we never had sex--Not that I didn't want to, I was so lonely. I felt as though I deserved everything that was happening to me. You know, because of what I had done to Kathy Rockwell, what I had done to her family, what I had done to my own family. I figured that I wasn't worth anything and I resigned myself to let Oz and Vern Schillinger destroy me."

"Oh hey, Toby, I…"

"It's okay, Chris. You wanted to know, right? This was all a part of it." He drew in a shuddering breath as he continued. "Obviously no one would go near "Vern's prag," the words dragged bitterly out of his mouth. "No one would talk to me, and no one would touch me except for Vern… And he was brutal. I don't blame them, though, they were afraid," he added, "but you know Ryan. It's like rules don't apply to him. Guy's not afraid of anything."

Chris thought about that for a moment. It was something that he himself had noticed when he first met the skinny Irishman. He could never understand it either. The guy had no loyalties and all of the respect. In with everyone and responsible to no one but himself. Chris admired it… and hated him for it too. Ryan O'Reily was one cocky s.o.b..

Chris could see that Toby was suddenly smiling again, but with a slightly perplexed expression on his face. "You know what has always bothered me? I remember why Ryan started talking to me in the first place," Toby reminisced, "he had heard that I was a lawyer and wanted me to look into his case; see if there was anything that had been overlooked, something that could get him out of Oz. What I don't understand was why after I told him that it was a lost cause, he kept hanging around with me. More to the point let *me* hang around with *him*. I mean, Ryan O'Reily doesn't do favors for anyone unless he wants to get something in return, right?"

Toby stayed silent for a minute while he pondered this sudden realization. A realization that also struck Chris as odd. "I definitely didn't have anything to offer him…come to think of it, I never paid for any tits either."

Chris hid his pleasure as he filed this little bit of information away for later. *Ain't no fag my ass, Irish…*

Toby's stomach muscles tightened and his cock twitched as he noticed his lover's intense expression, the way his eyes had darkened considerably, glazed over with a predatory fierceness. Instead of erupting angrily, though, Chris slowly began grinding against his thigh. "Go on, Toby…" he encouraged.

He didn't know if he should but he was finding it hard to withdraw from the memory as his body and brain were flooded with the sounds and sensations of the past. "W-when we got high, it was like it was okay to touch him. The drugs made it okay-Okay to be close. So fuckin' close," he murmured absently. "He was so warm…he smelled warm too, does that make any sense? Like he'd just cooled down after a work out, or an inordinately hot shower…an aroma of his own skin and sweat combined with an undercurrent of soap and a hint of laundry detergent…"

Toby's voice grew ragged as he allowed the memories to come back to him vividly. The two of them huddled together in the laundry room, an empty supply closet, or under the stairs snorting heroin. Ryan's body protectively pressed up against him; "to keep him hidden" he would say, "from prying eyes, from Schillinger and the rest of those Aryan fucks."

He was there again, right there; his hand wrapped around Ryan's. His fingertips grazing the soft underside of his wrist, their foreheads almost touching, breath on breath making the hair on the back of his neck stand up--then, the rush of the drugs.

He was sure that they must have gotten closer after that; that is if it was physically possible, but he couldn't recollect. There were only flashes and images, scents and sounds that when combined would make for a pretty hot picture if he could remember how to connect the dots.

Toby ran his fingers across then underneath Chris' shirt lightly caressing his firm chest. "His skin, it's soft. If I brushed up against him, or when our arms or our legs touched, with the slightest bit of contact I could feel his body tremble."

He looked over at Chris while chewing on his bottom lip and smiled sheepishly. "I made Ryan O'Reily tremble."

When Chris was finally able to find his voice it was intense and infused with passion. "But you never kissed," he stated sounding almost disappointed…almost.

"Get serious, Chris. This *is* Ryan O'Reily we’re talking about-" Chris pulled Toby toward him so that his head was resting on his shoulder.

"When we were alone together, high, it was different. I could get away with a lot. I would rest my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat while the drugs drifted through my body, brush my cheek against his biceps and his shoulders while we laughed. I would press my lips hard against his throat and he would just let me; just close his eyes, roll his head back and take another hit off of a duster. Sometimes I wonder, if I had… Would he have let me?"

Suddenly, the palm that had been slowly torturing the growing thickness in Toby's pants had abruptly stopped its maddening caresses making him, not only mourn its loss, but look up quickly, fearing that he'd said too much.

"How would you kiss him, Toby?"

"I-I told you, we didn't…"

Chris interrupted, pulling Toby up to a seated position directly in front of him. "I know, I mean if you had. Imagine that I'm O'Reily." His voice was thick with lust. "Show me how you would have kissed him, Toby." As his voice trailed off, Chris' large fingers gently swept across Toby's face closing his eyes. "Show me, Toby. Kiss me…"

Beecher hesitated for a minute unsure of whether Chris really knew what he was asking. His feelings for Ryan, their feelings, they had been built out of necessity, a need for each other so penetrating, so intense… But with an understated gesture; fingers delicately breezing across his thighs, Toby was urged to continue.

Deliberately keeping mere centimeters between their lips, Toby first inhaled, remembering even the subtlest of details during his times with Ryan. He remembered the teasing lilt that Ryan's voice would take on when they were really wasted, how husky it would become when they were alone. He shuddered as he recalled how Ryan would look at him, keep his eyes trained on him from beneath heavy lids watching with an almost perverse sense of pride, as Toby would indulge in another hit.

He leaned in close and when their lips finally met, Toby moaned deeply allowing all of his pent up passion to explode into Chris' mouth. His fingers came up and grabbed hold of the back of Chris' neck sharply pulling him forward and impaling him with his tongue. All Chris could remember was heat and moisture; a wild and furious bonding that left him having trouble, not only breathing, but also believing that all of that passion had come from his Toby.

Now Toby was the one grinding his hips and panting heavily. "Fuck me, Chris." The desperate tone resonated through the air. "Fuck me."

Chris' arm instantly snaked around Toby's waist, slowly lowering him down onto his back, as demanding fingers began pulling away at his clothing.

*****************************

There was something to be said about making love to Toby, about taking it slow and taking your time with deep kisses and delicate caresses, this however, was not one of those times. Chris could see the look of wanton need in his lover's eyes, eyes that tore through to his soul.

With one hand he flipped Beecher over and thrust a thick saliva slicked finger into his rectum. With precision strokes, he quickly, yet masterfully massaged Toby's prostate and prepared him for penetration, while at the same time driving Toby over the edge. Pulling out swiftly, he lanced him hard. Toby's entire body seized up, his muscles clamping down around Chris' shaft with an insatiable need.

Less than a dozen strokes had passed between them. A dozen strokes that Toby enjoyed behind closed lids, and when it was over Toby lay sated and quiet on the bed.

Chris curled up close stroking back his sweat soaked hair.

"That was incredible Toby." A throaty sigh was all that Toby's glutted body could muster making Chris smile briefly. He gently pressed his lips to the hot, damp flesh of Toby's shoulder and listened as his breathing evened out.

The sex had been so wild and dirty that Chris almost felt as though he had just cheated on Toby, then a thought suddenly occurred to him. "Toby, were you thinking of me?" The quiver in his own voice actually surprised him. The pod stayed silent.

Chris laughed lightly realizing that Toby was already sound asleep but deep down inside, the question burned bright in his mind. Quietly, he climbed up to Toby's bunk and wrapped his arms around his lover's pillow as he thought. This wasn't something to be taken up with Toby. Toby had been hurt back then, vulnerable. He would have taken shelter from anyone who offered. Ryan O'Reily was the strong one, and he knew exactly what he was doing. It was Toby that should be held responsible... No, it was the Mick that he needed to talk to.

"Night baby," he whispered huskily, "and sweet dreams…"

******************************************************

"So what exactly is that you want, K-boy?" Ryan tried to sound blasé but deep down inside, he already knew. It was written all over Keller's face.

Chris smiled; the Mick had no idea….

******************************************************

2

Keller watched Ryan hesitate, transfixed by the white powder as the memories that it represented came rushing back to him. He outstretched his hand a little further taking particular pleasure in watching the struggle that played out across the Mick's handsome features. This was going to be easier than he thought.

Keeping his head down, Ryan lifted his gaze to meet Chris's cold eyes finding no empathy there, only impatience. "Where'd you get it?"

Dipping his pinky into the mound, Chris ran it across his gums sucking in his teeth in an exaggerated gesture. "Don't matter, but it ain't poison though if that's what you're thinkin."

Ryan looked back down. It had been so long, so hard to get out from under its pull the first time. The Heroin had ruled him; held him back and engulfed his mind in a perpetual fog that kept him conscious yet subservient to its will, and now Chris was attempting to wield that same power over him. He knew that, and yet was already losing the battle.

Chris watched the war waging in the normally, carefully guarded expression. The Irishman's resolve was fragile at best and Chris fought back a smile. Addicts tended to loosen up quite a bit when under the influence, lose all ability to think for themselves. An addicted O'Reily would not only offer him whatever he wanted but be less likely to shank him later on. Chris held Ryan's future in the palm of his hand.

Cautiously; so as not to make O'Reily feel threatened, as though he had already lost control (which he had), Chris brought an open palm up, placed it around the back of Ryan's head, skillfully caressing the younger man's neck as he gently urged him down toward his inevitable surrender.

The minute that Ryan's hands cupped his, Chris could feel the tremors begin, and as Ryan inhaled, Chris smiled, gently stroking the back of his head. "That's it…"

For Ryan the reaction was familiar enough albeit a bit unexpected. He didn't consider himself a first time user, but it had been such a long time. Lucky for him, EmCity pods weren't designed to be spacious and he had no trouble just falling to his knees and landing directly in front of the shitter as his stomach violently rebelled.

It was over in a matter of seconds but Ryan stayed on his knees to catch his breath, a position that Chris found not only alluring but also ironically appropriate considering what he had in mind. Wrapping his arms around Ryan's chest, Chris heaved him up in front of the sink, pinning him there with his hips as he popped open a bottle of mouth wash.

"Getoffofme Keller," Ryan slurred.

"I'm going to be getting off, all right," Chris mumbled under his breath.

Too fucked up to think and too weak to struggle against him, Ryan just relaxed and allowed Keller to rinse the foul taste out of his mouth before shifting out of his grasp and collapsing against the first solid object that would hold him up. The cool concrete drew his overheated body to it like a magnet.

Chris smiled openly as he stared at Ryan; so vulnerable, his head back, eyes closed, hardly even able to hold himself up. Suddenly, Chris could not only picture, but feel what Toby had described to him the night before; he and Ryan alone and needy clinging to each other in their own little drug induced realm of desperate salvation.

His dick immediately stiffened even as the jealousy streaked through him. He needed to get closer. Placing his splayed fingers against the center of Ryan's chest, he effortlessly pressed his body to the wall.

Ryan's entire world was running at half speed leaving him unaware of what was happening until he felt Chris' tongue forcing its way toward the back of his throat.He didn't struggle. For the moment, he allowed Chris to have control, choosing instead to concentrate on the sweet and familiar heat of the heroin as it swept through his body in waves. As the kiss became more intense, Chris' fingers dug into his hips and forcefully jerked him closer.

A heavy moan escaped from Ryan's lips and he clumsily grabbed hold of Chris' biceps to steady him self. It wasn't until he felt Chris start to thrust into his groin, that he finally gathered together enough strength to shove him back.

"Uh Uhh, O'Reily, we made a deal." Chris' voice was stern and harsh, sharpened with need.

Out of breath, his body swaying back and forth, Ryan still tried to project some semblance of control. "For Toby, K-boy."

"And you agreed to that awfully quickly for bonified heterosexual..." Chris closed the distance between them once again getting right up into Ryan's face. "But just remember, Irish, I'm calling the shots. Either way you look at it you're fucked, got it?"

It took all of his self-control to not wretch again when Ryan felt Chris trailing his thumb across his cheek followed shortly after by his tongue, and although it was forced, he smiled defiantly. With a rival gaze he took Keller's hand in his own, extended his tongue as far as it would reach and proceeded to lick away the rest of the residue from the heroin.

"I'll be ready whenever you are, K-boy," he spat with a lot more conviction that he actually felt.

"Oh, I know that you'll be ready O'Reily, can you hold out that long is what I want to know?" With his eyes, Chris gestured down toward the swelled mound between Ryan's thighs and before he could react, Chris landed a sharp slap to his backside before walking out of the pod.

All Ryan could do was watch him leave. God, as if allowing Christopher Keller something this big to hold over his head wasn't enough of a monumental fuck up, and then to fall off the wagon after years of being clean, but now, to have his own, granted much neglected body betray him? Still, he couldn't deny his wanting anymore. Life plus 40 yrs…

"Fuck!"

After count, Ryan climbed onto his bunk and lay staring at the ceiling while once again weighing his options and trying to force him self to relax and enjoy the tail end of his buzz. He fucked up royally there were no two ways about it. Tomorrow everything would change, turn to shit. He clenched his fists and threw them down hard into the mattress.

On the brighter side he could always tell Chris no and get to see a lot more of Gloria in the infirmary over the next six weeks while his bones mended…

OR…

Slowly he touched his fingers to his swollen lips.

(By morning every hack and inmate in Oz was going to know that Chris Keller had kissed him, or worse, that he *let* Chris Keller kiss him like a willing bitch. Really did a number on him too. Shoved his tongue so far down his throat that Ryan could almost swear that he still felt him there, probing. Absently, he stroked his neck with his hand. Damn, treated me just like his own fuckin' prag… No, Chris wouldn't tell; not if he really wanted this to happen; and he did seem to want it as much for himself as he did for Beecher.)

The sad truth was that he had been weighing his options of potential "partners" for a few months and though the idea of being intimate with another man didn't repulse him as much as he led everyone to believe, he kept coming back to one inmate in particular…

He felt the 'OR' in the pit of his stomach and his eyes drifted shut as he imagined what Beecher's lips would taste like after all of this time.

Taking advantage of the darkness and his detached mental state, Ryan slid his hand down the front of his pants and stroked away at the ache in his overly stiffed cock.

When had he lost control?

***********************************************************

3

"The physical therapy room, who'd you have to blow to swing this?"

Keller didn't bother answering, he was too busy searching out a surface the ideal height to bend Ryan over while he ravaged that tight, virgin, Irish ass.

Chris seemed to settle on the spot. "The massage table…"

"What are you babbling about?" The crisp scrape of metal across flint instantly drew Chris' attention and he turned around.

Ryan put his lighter away, then propped himself up against the wall with a cigarette dangling precariously from his lips looking like James fuckin' Dean, undeniably hot and so in control. He was ready; stripped down to the waist, his arms loosely folded across his chest, biceps grazing, just barely concealing his two perfectly pert, dark pink nubs. His dark blue prison denims hung low off of the smooth delicate curves of his hips, and below, his legs crossed; left ankle over right, and he was barefoot.

Ryan fuckin' O'Reily, man, 100% heterosexual male and the epitome of a homo-erotic wet dream if ever Christopher Keller had ever seen one.

It was no wonder Toby had felt such an attraction towards him during their time together. Not only was he easy on the eyes, but being a master manipulator, Ryan knew how to use whatever means necessary to get what he wanted from his mark….

Keller bit back a sneer at the thought of his lover.

It was so obvious now that Ryan had wanted Toby. His Toby. The very thought of Ryan, a stone cold killer rivaling himself in cunning-wanting to touch *his Toby..* It boiled his blood.

Still Stoned or straight, the poor, lonely Irish mug couldn't even get broken little, prag boy Toby to suck his dick. He could take solace in that. Ryan didn't have the balls to initiate it. Not without admitting to himself and the rest of Emcity that he was attracted to man and *that wasn't* going to happen.

(Something that deep down, Chris could relate to given that he had killed rather than let it get out that he was bisexual.) Fuck. They were so alike.

In Ryan's mind, acknowledgment of those feelings would be an admission of weakness; unfortunately in a place like Oz he might be right but either way, Ryan wouldn't--couldn't ever admit to that. The drugs were supposed to be his ace in the hole. Get Toby hooked so he'd be willing to do anything. The drugs were just a prop for him, give the appearance of control. Well, now it was his turn…

(Mick probably spent most nights in his pod jacking off thinking about deep tonguing Toby, or Toby deep-throating him. Nice try, O'Reily, but it's too late, you've got fuck me written all over your face, but Toby's mine, fuckwad!)

Ryan seemed the very definition of cool on the outside, allowing Chris to openly appraise his physique. Letting that cocky ass bullshit power trip wash over Chris bathing him in lust. He fuckin' hated that about O'Reily. How he could gain the upper hand in almost any situation by knowing exactly what people wanted. Not only that but have the power to give it to them. Anything-anytime…

*Not *this* time.*

Chris let his intentions read on his face like a cheap dime store novel. They were playing a dangerous game and Chris decided to tip his hand.

*I know you're bluffing. I call.*

Once Ryan realized what Chris' eyes were doing; mapping out the intended route that his tongue would be taking across his body, instantly, his façade crumbled and he shivered ever so slightly. That barely noticeable recoil was enough to insure Chris that no matter how good the front was that Ryan was putting up, it was just that, a front, and he still had the dominion over him that he so desperately craved.

*Shouldn't have bet if you couldn't pay up.*

****************************************************

*Fuck!* Taking another puff off his cigarette, Ryan composed himself. "So, uh, k-boy, you forget to tell Beecher where we were going to be or what?" Pushing aside his discarded wife beater, Ryan smoothly hopped up onto the counter and gave Chris an arrogant little sneer as he checked the clock on the wall. "It's getting' late and I'm a busy man."

Chris tilted his head following Ryan's gaze to the clock before turning them back on him, his eyes piercing as he stalked purposely across the room. "No, I didn't *forget* I just didn't tell him." Ryan's gaze once again faltered as his gut twisted telling him to be careful. Something dangerous was growing in Chris' eyes.

"I thought…" The sentence died on his lips as he heard the tremble in his own voice. "Hey, whatever man, I showed up, right? That was my half of the deal." He started to pick up his shirt but Chris was already moving closer, locking eyes with Ryan for effect.

"Wow, if I didn't know any better I'd say that you sound disappointed, O'Reily." Ryan scrunched his eyes suspiciously unable to think of a response. *Heh, so caught up in the game, you forgot check the pot. You didn't know what was at steak, did you? *

"See, I think that you want this," he continued. "I think that you've been waiting for something like this to happen." Chris smiled as he pulled his final ace. *Didn't think to check up my sleeve, did ya' O'Reily?*

"The way that Toby describes it, sounds to me like you've just been waiting for an excuse…"

It was the undeniable truth but coming from Chris, it sounded so much worse than the dreams that left Ryan's heart thundering and pulse racing day after day. The fantasies that shamed him and left him craving contact at the same time.

Chris stepped closer, and the closer he got, the heavier Ryan's lashes became, inadvertently drifting downward as the Chris' smoky voice surrounded him. "…Waiting for someone to 'force' you. I think you want it, 'cause I know you need it."

The look on Ryan's face echoed through Chris' mind. ****Take me now before I *have* to fight you, Chris, just to save fuckin' face. Please, don't make me ask for it because I never will, just don't give me a choice.****

God, it was so clear, so fuckin' transparent now, and Chris couldn't understand why he hadn't seen it before.

********************************************************

Chris' desire; rage combined with a mix of fervor and vehemence erupted as he crushed his lips against Ryan's mouth and wrenched the first passion filled sob from deep within his chest, his fingers sinking desperately into the Ryan's soft perspiring skin.

This was the kind of sex that Chris craved; out of bounds, hard and furious hurt sex, the kind that left you bruised and delirious and yearning for more. The kind of sex that he couldn't have with Toby, at least not anymore, not without doing some irreparable damage. Their love was already too much; already a continuous effort to maintain control, to make sure that he didn't lose it.

It was easy enough to get lost in Toby, to see every side of him when his eyes were closed, wounds that have never quite mended. The broken side. He had already bruised him enough both mentally and physically, to last a lifetime, but it was a part of him.

It was the only kind though, that Ryan would allow and Chris was going to take full advantage of it, use him to expel all of his self-hatred and release his demons.

(Maybe Ryan could handle it. Maybe Ryan was stronger. Maybe Ryan wouldn't break… And maybe Chris didn't care because Ryan, wasn't Toby.)

Ryan's heart pounded hard as he was blindsided by Chris' sexual assault. Large hands seemed to be everywhere all at once; a thumb gliding across his throat, gentle pressure on his windpipe forcing his head from side to side, a sharp nip on tender skin in a furious show of dominance. Chris was claiming him and Ryan knew it.

As the left hand rounded his back and a finger dipped dangerously low into the waistband of his jeans, Ryan became light-headed. He had no presence of equilibrium, no center point. It was all happening too fast. He was overcome with a multitude of emotions; desire mixed with uncertainty and fear. Shame, the painful ache in his dick verses the absolute nirvana of precious release that existed in Keller's mouth and hands.

Chris' motions were becoming more concentrated with their combined heat, his still sheathed cock swelled as he thrust furiously hard into Ryan's with increasing intensity. Like a boa constrictor, the deeper the intake of Ryan's breath, the tighter Chris' embrace became.

(If *they* find out my jizz is gone.)

"Keller…" Ryan rasped futilely.

"Keller," a bit louder coming out more like a tortured moan.

"If you're going to even attempt to stop me, O'Reily," he mumbled into the nape of his neck between bites and kisses, "good luck…"

Before Ryan knew what was happening he was on his feet, his body pinned painfully between the solid mass of Chris' fullness and the hard lip of the counter. Then, aggressively taking hold of Ryan's face, his fingers sinking into his tender skin disturbingly hard, Keller breathed fiercely. "I've killed men for less."

Ryan didn't doubt it and nodded in agreement.

Smiling eerily, drunk on ghosts from the past, Chris bit down hard on Ryan's lower lip piercing the silky skin. Taking his index finger, he dragged it roughly across the slit causing the warm fluid to streak down Ryan's chin. With the tip of his tongue, he retraced the trail back up to Ryan's pliant lips, drinking in the coppery flow before burrowing back into his mouth in a heinous show of authority.

Ryan could barely breathe as he felt the button on his jeans slide free followed by the slow sound of grinding metal as his zipper was tugged down. Beginning to panic, he snapped his head up to meet Keller's deadpan gaze.

"I don't think I can do this…"

"No more games Ryan. I'm not Toby. I know what you want, you don't have to ask." Gently he sucked one glazed and swollen lip between his as he cupped Ryan's mound to make his point. "But once I get started, there is no stopping me, understand?"

So stunned by the harshness of the passion and threatening tone of Chris' words, Ryan could only cinch his eyes into a hard stare; one of his hallmark looks of anger and deflection. In truth, he was bordering terror even as his cock arched into the warmth.

" I am only as gentle or as rough as *I* want to be so don't fight, and don't fuck with me," Chris then hissed sternly. "Don't fight yourself." As Chris spoke, he purposely allowed his breath to blow lightly across Ryan's sensitive lobe for effect.

Ryan curled his lip defiantly and hissed hard between clenched teeth, non-verbally doing what he could to try and diminish Chris' power. Useless. His dick was too hard and his resolve, non-existent. It had been far too long. He had said it himself, he craved affection, any kind of affection, and now Chris had him exactly where he wanted him; where he wanted to be, and his main concern became not crying out and grinding his cock into him like some bitch in heat.

Frozen, Ryan followed with his eyes as Chris ran his fingers up and across his bare chest. He couldn't stop the flinching and the tremors those large hands were causing as they made their way back down.

"So smooth… You know," he laughed tauntingly, "Beech has hair, but you wouldn't know that, would you?" A remark meant to stay with Ryan and hurt him more than any bruise or break.

Then, instead of delving into his pants right away as Ryan had expected, Chris took a hold of his slim wrists, fitting them snugly into one of his own hands, bringing them up above his head. (Another part of the game meant to keep Ryan submissive whether he was giving in or not.)

He wasn't pinned, not hard anyway, but Chris made sure that Ryan knew that any attempt to move on his part would be met with fierce resistance. Finally, when he was sure that Ryan knew his place, Chris slid his hand into the front of Ryan's pants.

Ryan turned away, his body going rigid as Chris bypassed his cock and instead fully palmed his sac. After just a few seconds of fondling, Chris withdrew, sidling his fingertips languidly along Ryan's semi-erect shaft, his touch barely a whisper, as he pulled Ryan's penis out of its fabric confine just to pin it between the elastic of his boxers and his own quivering belly.

His cock twitched as air blew across the exposed tip making Ryan wonder which was worse, the manhandling, Chris' lack of contact, or the fact that he was thinking about exactly what Chris wanted him to.

(Damned if you do, so fuckin' do it already!!!!)

Just when he thought he would burst, Chris released his hands, taking silent pleasure in the fact that Ryan didn't move, just relaxed his elbows and demurely dropped his head as Chris silently watched him, studied him… broke him.

Control…It's all about control and Chris would have it, complete control.

He was amazed seeing Ryan this way; stripped down of all of his defenses. His entire being a complete contradiction to the devil may care attitude that he displayed to the other inmates, to the CO's, to McManus and Murphy; He was soft, so soft in every way. Soft skin, soft voice, benign--not at all tough when it came right down to it.

"Shit, Beecher's got a thicker skin than you too, O'Reily," Chris laughed as he continued to test Ryan's resolve; running his fingers along the softest and most sensitive patches of skin. Caressing the undersides of his arms with his knuckles, exploring the delicate hollow of Ryan's ribcage, enjoying the feel of his body and the slight of his muscles as they rolled and flinched beneath his touch, underneath his creamy skin.

Ryan closed his eyes. *Wasn't this what I had wanted?*

"What is it you want me to do, O'Reily? Do you want me to touch you? Do you want me to stop?" Ryan kept his eyes closed tightly while breathing hard. "Now how am I supposed to know what to do if you won't tell me?" Chris teased openly.

*I want to cum. I want to shoot a load right into your fucking faggot mouth, Keller, so fucking hard that you choke on it.*

He knew that he couldn't deny it any longer, but shit, he wasn't going to willingly tell him. Besides, it wasn't as if his oozing dick wasn’t' already giving him away.

In between taunts, Chris began tongue fucking Ryan's ear, the tip dancing gently across his lobe while his fingers sought out the rosy smoothness of Ryan's chest, tracing the velvety skin in lazy circles, just skirting the pebbled nub. Suddenly Ryan whimpered, his breath hitching in a strangled cry, and slumping forward, he shamefully came in his pants without hardly being touched.

"Mmmm, that's it, baby." Chris purred pulling Ryan's twitching frame into a tight embrace against his chest; rubbing his back in gentle motions meant to patronize rather than comfort. Belittle and shame him further.

Before the shock and aftershocks had stilled, Chris pushed him back against the wall. "O'Reily, I just want you to know that I don't know what just happened here."

"Yeah," Ryan snorted snidely, weakly with his head down as he waited for the punch line below the belt.

"No, really," Chris came back nonchalantly as he swept his index finger over the still exposed slit of Ryan's moist head.

Ryan jerked back and watched as Chris made a small production out of sucking the sweet juice off of his finger. "I intended to hurt you. I don't know what happened, why I didn't. So, consider that a favor and umm, don't tell Toby, okay, or uh, maybe next time I might just remember what I came here for."

"Yeah, like I'm going to run out and tell everyone, Keller." He meant it to come off as sarcastic and obnoxious, but his voice was faint and instead shook unsteadily betraying his weakness.

Smiling at that, Chris kissed Ryan once more, leaving the salty remnants of himself on his own sore lips. "Get used to it, O'Reily, I wouldn't want you spitting it back up on me next time."

As he walked out, Ryan slumped back against the wall, his body still sticky and his legs shaking.

*********************************************************

4

Ryan made his way back to his pod quickly, yet as inconspicuously as possible, sure that the bright heated flush that burned on his skin was as apparent to everyone around as it was to him. The shame and anger grew more overwhelming with every step until he swore he could see his own humiliation reflected in the eyes of every person that he passed.

With a sudden burst of urgency, he needed to be alone, hidden. As he passed the laundry room he noticed it to be deserted and ducked inside. Behind the large dryer on the right where he knew he would be concealed for a brief time; time enough to get himself and his mind back together he huddled in the corner.

His legs shook tremulously as he became more aware of his briefs, uncomfortable and adhered to his abdomen with the drying evidence of his body's betrayal. His head pounded and his mind reeled recounting the confrontation with unsettling clarity. Agitatedly he began fingering the five or so bags of heroin encased in his pocket

His blood boiled, anger and fury combined with the remaining wash of his own shameful release, confused him in a whir of heated emotions as he tried to erase the memories of the last half-hour from his mind; Chris' voice, his scent, his touch. Ryan shivered finding it hard to think, and with a shaky hand, he withdrew one of the tightly packed powder mounds from his pocket and rolled it around in his palm.

*One hit* he rationalized. *One hit to calm me down so I can think, find someone with reason enough to want Keller gone as much I do. I do… Find someone with enough reason, or just find someone to convince that they have a reason… Just one hit and I'll be feeling better…*

Removing the securely bound prophylactic binding, Ryan brought the pouch to his nose and inhaled deeply. The slow, familiar wave of sweet detachment overtook him and moments later his eyes rolled lazily to the back of his head as he began to drift and nod.

Time became irrelevant, and by the second bag, he was feeling no pain, physically or emotionally. For the moment, there existed nothing, only numbness, no shame, no loneliness, no Oz, and no Chris Keller. Yes, for the moment, he was invulnerable.

"Why did I ever stop," he mused absently as utter euphoria snaked its way through him.

As far as the monumental list of bad decisions he'd made in his life, at the moment, this certainly didn't feel like the worst one. *Shit, not even in the top ten,* he chided himself, and by the third bag, he'd almost convinced him self of as much.

As the pure taste of oblivion claimed him once again, he noticed too late, the large shadow that loomed above him, and right away he knew that he fucked up. He had done exactly what Chris had wanted him to do. He was prime, penetrable and weak, his mind too hazy and his limbs too heavy to fight, but aware of everything going on around him. A slave to Chris' will.

A handjob, a blowjob, the friction between warm and needy bodies to release a drop of stress in an ocean of hellfire, that was one thing. He should have known that it wouldn't stop there with him. He already had that with Toby.

Chris stood over Ryan's listless figure and sneered. Not his ideal victim given his past conquests, but then again, he'd written these rules especially for Ryan.

*****************************************************

That first hit in his cell was deliberate, meant to be the beginning of the end. It was what Chris had been counting on all along; for Ryan to fall prey to his own addiction once again, and with two days worth of sampling his own stash already under his belt, it had now taken its toll on his body. As his brain remembered, falling back into the regiment quickly and with practiced ease, he was once again hooked and that made him prey.

Chris didn't say a word as he held him tight the wall. His muscular body pressing against Ryan's slight frame firmly as he brought his own hand containing the delicate white powder to his face, and Ryan snorted without any hesitation because he couldn't stop himself; only his own words to Beecher floating mockingly through his mind.

*Well if you gotta' go, you gotta' go high.*

*****************************************************

Normally, Chris liked a challenge especially from a fighter like the Irishman, to sway him slowly. To gain a victim's trust and even sometimes their hearts before moving in for the proverbial and literal kill, but with Ryan he had to be careful. He had to be careful for Beecher. Beecher would care… besides, a good portion of the fun was going to be in watching Ryan try and deal with the attack, overcome it in the aftermath...A living hell.

But not all of the fun…

Ryan's entire body was pliant and complacent from the toxin, but his mind still unwilling as he futilely struggled against Chris' massive build. He wouldn't accept what was inevitably going to happen, hoping that maybe if he could stall someone would come, his mind holding on in typical O'Reily fashion looking for the loophole.

If he could just buy himself some time then he could get to Chris before Chris got to him, but it wasn't meant to be. Ryan's hands were deflected, swept away as if they were no more than mere cobwebs on the rafters or the milling buzz of an annoying insect on a quiet summer's day.

As Chris' fingers grasped solidly into the thin webbing of his tee shirt, Ryan formed a semi coherent sentence and forced it from his tightening throat.

"W-what is this, Keller? Why are you doing this?"

He hadn't understood this deal from the beginning, at least from Chris' point of view. All he did know was that the years of bitter isolation and loneliness were rapidly taking their toll on him and the idea of being offered some long overdue contact with Beecher had actually sounded good, not putting it passed Chris to have been turned on by the idea. It wasn't as if it hadn't crossed his mind before, but Keller…

Chris clasped his fingers tightly around Ryan's jaw until they were nose to nose. "Because I can, O'Reily."

Regaining himself slowly, Ryan tried to hide the fear behind a stoic mask of hate and self control, but his eyes shook with every emotion that he had been determined to conceal the moment that he was processed and locked away in Oz.

"It's Beecher, isn't it? That's what this is about," he stammered having known that-that certain soft spot he'd harbored for the little blonde law-boy that always seemed to seep through the cracks of his armor at the most inopportune times would eventually get him into some kind of trouble. "I told you that that shit before, it was about the drugs, that's all, man. You know me, I ain't gonna' touch him. I ain't no fuckin'…"

"Shut the fuck up,O'Reily!"

Unfortunately for Ryan, his imploring eyes and unbidden broken voice only incensed the heat that grew from Chris' darker side, and whatever his motivation, it was all too obvious that it threatened to swallow him whole unless released.

Originally it may have been about Beecher, whether it be jealousy or anger, but now, Chris was on autopilot. A drive that had been carefully buried for too many years was rising to the surface and he couldn't stop himself. He didn't want to hurt Ryan… he had to.

"It's not about Beecher," he answered indignantly, almost hissing as his lips curled. Reaching down, he used Ryan's shirt to lift him from the semi huddled position that he was most likely unaware that he was assuming and tossed him further into the back of the laundry room.

"It's not about Beecher," he said unconvincingly. "And it's not about you either O'Reily." That much was true. With Chris, this uncontrollable tendency could vent on absolutely anyone at any time. It wasn't anything personal. "You're nothing…Nothing," he stressed again as he shucked off his wife beater and tossed it aside, his body already carrying a glistening coat of perspiration.

Forcefully, Ryan was pinned face down against a table, his pants already pooling around his ankles. As large callused hands breezed lightly across his staunch skin, his slender waistline narrowed, flinching, but unable to escape the barrage of contact, giving further sharpness to his already tapered frame. His shoulder blades, now knifelike, jutted out against the straining muscles in his back as his hands pressed flat against the smooth formica and he tensed in anticipation of the intrusion, making Chris laugh tauntingly.

He purposely lay heavily across Ryan's back pressing his muscular pecks and sensitized nipples against the comparatively delicate frame beneath him letting him feel the full weight of his strength and the coarseness of the bristled hair that adorned his solid thighs as they grazed across his tender backside. Slowly, Chris nudged his stiffened sex carelessly into the crevice of Ryan's ass and against his tightly clenched opening as he reached beneath him. With an open palm, he gently stroked the soft skin of Ryan's torso, tracing the deep scar that followed his rib cage and led to the soft skin of his belly.

With his thick index finger, he languidly fingered Ryan's navel in a few lazy circles before embarking on the sparsely dusted trail of hair that led down to his groin, allowing Ryan's tension and fear build while his harsh, hot breath danced across his neck.

"You're lucky he likes you…"

Oxygen seemed to escape Ryan's grasp. His breath hitched slightly and his body shook fiercely the closer that Chris' hand got to its goal. And as the spread palm cupped around him and started kneading, expertly working his flaccid penis painfully slow, he couldn't help the low groan of defeat that pushed itself from his lungs, again, tantalizing Chris and feeding his passion.

Ryan had no idea just how lucky he was. The monster that Chris had become over the years would have shredded Ryan's being in a matter of minutes, but the fondness in which Toby spoke of Ryan both insensed and soothed him turning his would be savagery into a sharp stabbing jealously. Lucky indeed…

As much as he willed his body against it, Ryan couldn't stop the sudden rush of fluid that brought him to fullness in Chris' hand. And as Chris started rubbing his lightly stubbled cheek against his back, almost tenderly it sent him reeling; confusing his mind and body under a disorienting physical and emotional assault.

There was no question that Chris was a sexual predator, the likes of which had no comparison. He knew exactly what to do. He was a pro, regarding his depravity as a craft, polishing his skills over the years. Learning that the psychological breakdown was just as, if not more important than the actual act itself, leaving Ryan to wonder at just what point Chris was planning on putting him out of his misery, because in his mind now, overwrought with fear, there was no question that he would.

He wasn't left to wonder long as he felt his chain being pulled back tightly around his throat, the flaxen cross cutting in and protruding out from the lift of his Adams apple. Physics seemed to be working against him because the thin linked chain held strong, seemingly unbreakable as Chris tugged at it slowly regulating Ryan's air supply to an inaccessible low, his voice becoming as scarce as his breath as he struggled to remain calm.

In his lightheaded state the most that he could do was press his dizzied head against the coolness of the tabletop and concentrate on not dying. "Chris…" It was uttered through numbing lips.

The previously slow whisper of air that had been seeping from his chest shot out in one sharp blow as the blunt head of Chris' massive muscle pressed into him hastily, purposely tearing at his unrelenting flesh. He would have cried out shamelessly, if he had had the strength but the one small hiss was all that he could muster.

The pain was agonizing but he didn't have the presence of mind to relax himself, to make this go easier on him because *that* would mean acceptance, there was no way that he would. Fight to the end; it is all that Ryan ever knew.

Fight.

He had almost taken off the tip of his tongue when sinking his teeth deep into the anesthetized flesh of his bottom lip as he felt himself stretching wide with Chris' plummeting arousal. Still though, between the brutality and the heroin, Ryan didn't have the breath or strength to scream. He just slammed his head down against the table beneath him and what? Hope that he'd knock himself out? Anything was better than being aware of what was happening to him.

"Chris… Please…"

"Yeah, bitch," Chris sighed. "Beg."

********************************************************

It was nothing like he'd imagined and everything he'd thought it would be. Pain.

********************************************************

Only once he was buried to the hilt did Chris mercifully let go of the chain and still himself sheathed within Ryan's trembling body, but it was only to fuel his fire, listening as Ryan swallowed some much needed air. "How's that feel, O'Reily?" Chris' voice had deepened to a stage whisper, husky but not quite quiet, as if to say that he didn't care who heard them, didn't care if he was caught.

"How's it feel to be helpless, to have my cock so far up your ass that you can taste it? To know that you could die at any minute, that you are _absolutely_ and_ completely_ at my mercy, huh?"

He felt so alive, controlling the most basic of needs in another human being. Something inside of Chris strived for the power, needing to be reminded that he and God were the only ones that dictated who would live and who would die.

Anger from Chris' words mingled with the pain in his body but Ryan didn't trust his voice to answer, to curse him. The heroin held him tight imprisoning him within himself, consciousness was his sentence, to see, feel and hear everything, and not be able to get away.

A small part of Chris became irritated that Ryan wouldn't answer. He didn't know the "others", didn't care enough to ask, but from Ryan, he truly did want to know what it felt like to be brought down from the top. He needed to know how it felt, but for now he would be content with just feeling the answer in Ryan's body as he branded him with his imprint from the inside out, figuring that there would be another time, another place.

Now, he listened while, with the momentary reprieve, Ryan gave up his fight to stay silent and began trying to recapture as much air as he possibly could, gulping unwieldy and exuding small groans and harsh voiced sighs. Chris knew that even if Ryan could answer, he wouldn't.

Ryan would never give him or anyone else the satisfaction of begging for his life. It just wasn't in him. He was way too tough for that, a fact which made this attack for Chris, all the sweeter.

Chris smiled arrogantly at his handy work and eased himself back up to a standing position dragging his fingers along Ryan's spine delicately, causing him to shake violently and his hole convulse sweetly around his burgeoning shaft.

Beginning to thrust slowly, he watched as the once pliant pink iris stretched white as it hugged securely around his thickness. Each pump brought forth a small trickle of warm fluid, blood and pre cum to stream down in between their thighs as he claimed Ryan's body in a way that no one ever would again.

"I told you Ryan, I can make it better."

He reached around taking hold of Ryan's once again flaccid organ, and tugged at the plump flesh from base to tip until it pulsed back to life. With a deliberate and concentrated rhythm, Chris massaged himself against Ryan's prostate forcibly exciting him until he was able to squeeze a thick drop of seminal fluid from the rosy tip. He locked his fingers around the bulbous head allowing the droplets to work with his motions, thrusting the staff up and down in between his slickened fingers.

Then, easing out, Chris took hold of Ryan's leg and eased him onto his back, needing to see his face, hold him in a scrutinizing gaze, watching the shame and pain play across his pale features while finishing himself off. Now, he'd show O'Reily what it was like to need.

Ryan reached out blindly as if to push his assailant away, but Chris just took a hold of his hand. He placed his thumb and forefinger against the taper of Ryan's wrist where he could feel the rapid beat of his pulse, and then pressed that hand against his sweat covered torso, held it against the pounding of his own blackened heart as he sank back in.

Chris' own expression stayed rigid and cold, almost clinical as he studied Ryan lying beneath him exhausted and as limp as a rag doll, panting and whimpering quietly, his battered and half-unconscious state suddenly overwhelming, more than enough to fulfill Chris' desire, his battered surrender defining, for Chris, beauty.

Closing his eyes, Chris' body tensed and with two more clumsy thrusts he emptied himself into Ryan. Though his true satisfaction wasn't complete until, while fisting Ryan's still stiff cock as he lay spread eagle and openly vulnerable, he felt the familiar vibrations building up from the base of Ryan's shaft and his own sweet juices spilled out into Chris' vice like grip.

Beauty and surrender…

Chris moaned headily while finally slipping his sated cock from the warmth of Ryan's body and lay across the top of him, smearing the sticky cream between them as he whispered. "See, I always knew you were a faggot O'Reily. After all of that, you still came so pretty for me."

Standing up, Chris started looking around for his discarded clothing. He spoke casually, spouting some psychobabble about past conquests and how lucky that the Irishman was that he had his uses. It was only once he put himself back together, that he turned around and acknowledged the Irishman.

Ryan lay there on the table unable to move his lead like limbs, breathing heavily and incoherently slurring murmured threats just above a whisper. Chris looked around, grabbed someone's discarded towel he moved back to Ryan, and as if it were at some great expense to himself, started cleaning him up.

Roughly, he swiped the towel through the sticky glaze that coated Ryan's abdomen, spitting on the fabric before wiping off his face and tossing the towel aside. Ryan was trembling and Chris sighed satisfactorily at the sight, taking no small amount of pleasure in the Mick's weakness and the knowledge that Ryan was just as good as the others, dead, because he would never tell anyone what had happened.

"You look fuckin' sweet, O'Reily."

He lifted Ryan from the table and, while holding him up, pulled his pants back up and fastened them around his waist. Then he pressed his salty lips against Ryan's while holding firmly to the back of his head, moaning aloud as he delved his tongue in and probed him deeply, licking the underside of Ryan's tongue and the insides of his teeth.

After the degradingly tender post-fuck kiss, Chris said nothing more, just pushed him back against the table and paused a moment to look over his most recent plunder. "It was fun," he smirked. "We'll have to do it again sometime."

As soon as Chris was gone, Ryan, barely able to roll off of the table, came in contact with cool pod glass and unsteadily slid down to the concrete floor. He rolled himself into a loose ball and prayed, as he fumbled through his pants, that he had one more bag of heroin.

He wasn't far from the shower room. Glancing over his shoulder, Ryan could see a towel balled up in front of a washer.

He knew that it was the very towel that Chris had used to wipe him down, and though the thought of having to use it made him sick; he had to shower, had to get clean. His body trembled. Bruised, heavy and chilled with his own sweat, he tried to stand but the slightest shift of weight sent a surging crest of intense pain throughout his body.

No, it wasn’t so much the pain, but what it represented.

He had never felt such an overwhelming sense of suffering in his life, one that enveloped his body as well as his mind. He felt as though he'd been branded with the scarlet letter; everyone who saw him would know just what he had become. A joke. Dirty. Low. Insignificant. Worthless.

How could he still hold his head high when he couldn’t even fathom looking at himself in the mirror? Physical and emotional separation had always been an important part of the game both in prison as well as on the street.

Physical-he would heal. Hell, he beat cancer. Emotional-he shut out. Shannon was evidence of that, but this act tied them both together and tore him apart inside.

Before it had just been a matter of maintaining his edge, stay hard, something that was second nature to him anyway, but now he was struggling to hide something that he was experiencing for the very first time, weakness.

The word hit him hard.

Ryan looked at his last bag of heroin. He didn't just want it he needed it, and not just for his physical dependency.

Anesthetization, antibiotics, painkillers… It wasn’t weakness. In his current condition they would be shooting him up with all kinds of drugs in the infirmary, he rationalized.

--The infirmary; Gloria--

God, Gloria…

Suddenly he heard movement in the laundry room and his entire body stiffened. If it was Murphy he was fucked. Murphy would call for a doctor and they would call for an ambulance and he would be whisked away to the hospital in front of everyone.

Marked, a target, crowds, whispers, humiliation.

He was surrounded by Keller’s presence. The moist heat from the encounter hung thickly in the air and he knew that to whoever had walked in, it would be evidence that some form of physical confrontation had taken place. Instantly, his mind pulled together an acceptable scenario for his current appearance and, like the professional he was, got into character.

When his gaze lifted, weary yet defiant brown fell upon a depth of clear blue that just about destroyed him. For a flicker of an instant his heart sank at the realization that the man that stood before him was stronger than he could ever hope to be. Tobias Beecher was a true survivor.

"Ryan, what the hell… I’ll get Murphy."

"No." He answered abruptly, before Beecher could leave.

Smiling at Beecher with his mask firmly in place, Ryan almost believed the words himself as they fell from his bloodied lips.

"You don’t look fine."

To his own surprise his voice was strong, but he still flinched self-consciously having no idea of how much of what he'd just been through was showing through on his face. And when Beecher reached out to wipe the drying blood from his lip, he pulled away.

"I’ll be fine in a minute," Ryan answered as he struggled to unwrap his last bag of dope.

Taking silent note of the trembling digits, Beecher stated flatly. "I thought you quit."

"What are you, my mother?" Ryan shot back sharply, his voice and body language slowly growing in frustration.

Something other than a derelict debt or drug deal gone awry had taken place, Tobias was sure of it. Having been used and abused by the best of them, Beecher had developed a keen awareness of the behavior of his fellow convicts, and had always had a special interest in Ryan in particular. Friendship and good looks aside, the guy was just something to behold when he was on his game, and the man it seemed, was always on his game…

Until now.

Placing his laundry basket on top of a washer, Toby sat down comfortably next to the Irishman. The silence that surrounded the two of them was overwhelming. It wasn’t that Ryan was very talkative to begin with, on the contrary, he was normally a man of few words, but the deadness in his behavior was staggering. It wasn’t until he took a good look at Ryan that a picture slowly began to present itself.

His lips were swollen and his shirt stretched out. Against the pale skin of Ryan’s neck now seemingly transparent even by the standards of his normal Irish pallor, there was the beginning of an angry crimson welt.

Beecher drew his gaze to the gold cross and chain around Ryan’s neck and shivered slightly. Ryan’s glazed eyes, shaky hands and perspired skin were not the result of a drug-induced stupor or withdrawal, but a mild state of shock. He studied Ryan closely as he continued trying to open the bag, his clumsy fingers refusing to obey him.

Laughing weakly, Ryan glanced up at Beecher but there was no humor in his lack luster eyes. For the first time in their long but intermittent friendship, his eyes were bottomless, naked and completely vulnerable. "Can't get it open."

Beecher’s stomach almost emptied and he swallowed hard against the growing sense of foreboding that pulled fiercely at his heart as he took in the sight of a man that he respected more than most in this place, brought to his knees.

Without hesitation, he held out his hand for the bag and spilled the contents onto the back of it.

Ryan looked at Beecher questioningly but the delicate blue eyes confirmed to Ryan that there was no need for the wall. Beecher wouldn’t press the issue. He was returning a favor that no one should ever have to repay, being there for Ryan just as Ryan had been there for him years before. Toby could read what had happened across his face. It was a book that Toby himself had read and still waited in anticipation for the ending.

The reality of being exposed cut through Ryan like a knife, and though Beecher didn’t mean for it to it fed the beast that was consuming him.

After taking Beecher’s hand in his own and pulling it to his cheek to snort, Ryan’s body began to shake. Small guttural gasps for air and trembling followed and Beecher thought for an instant that Ryan was OD’ing.

"Ryan, Shit, Shit…"

Toby quieted down as he came to the chilling realization that Ryan was not overdosing, but that it was something almost as bad if not worse in his own mind where Ryan was concerned. Ryan was crying.

His body wracked with heavy sobs from deep within that he was unsuccessfully trying to swallow. Toby was at a loss for what to do. It took three halting attempts before he could finally reach out and clasp his hand around the back of his friends head to pull him close to his chest and hold him while he struggled for composure. Gently, he stroked through the short damp strands at the base of Ryan’s neck.

As he held him, Toby felt just as cold, and just as vulnerable as he knew Ryan did. Each soft whimper chilled him to the bone, touching a place deep in his soul where his own unhealed wounds remained buried, where, on occasion, they seeped out to weave their way into his subconscious causing him to relive his nightmares all over again. He had learned to fight, but at night, he was once again defenseless.

One hour to count… He looked at Ryan again.

Toby held him close as the minutes passed, offering him the only comfort that he possibly could. He knew that there was nothing else that he could do. Ryan wouldn’t own up to what happened, and even if he did, no words would reach him.

Seconds…minutes…

Abruptly, Ryan jerked out from his friend’s grasp and with a few perfunctory swipes across his face he rid himself of the evidence of his weakness. His relentless self-imposed cell of emotional separation was once again in place.

"I’d better get cleaned up before one of the hacks sees me," Ryan commented as he rubbed vigorously at his nose. As he headed for the exit he walked tall, but his glide was gone.

"Ryan…" Beecher smiled tentatively at Ryan as he turned. Then, reaching into his basket he tossed him a towel. "It’s a little damp, but it’s relatively clean."

For a moment, Beecher could swear that Ryan was about to break down; collapse as it all came down around him but instead he swallowed hard and held up the wad of cloth.

"Thanks Beech. Later, okay?"

Toby nodded as Ryan exited the room. "Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck."