As soon as Toby walked into the pod, Chris lay down his magazine and smiled brightly. "Hey, where *you* been?" He sat up giving Beecher room to empty his laundry out onto the bunk.

The meeting with Ryan in the laundry room played through in Beecher’s mind but he couldn’t betray Ryan like that. He couldn’t handle small talk with Chris, either. He couldn’t handle any talk and yet all he wanted to do was vent.

"Doing laundry," he answered distantly.

And Chris didn’t miss his lover’s preoccupation. "Oh, did you do any of mine?" he asked with a smile in his voice and all of the confidence in the world. "You know how I am with folding."

Dismissing Chris’ quirky inquiry, Toby ceased folding his laundry and stared out into the quad. He knew he couldn’t actually say anything, but he had to know more. He wanted to know who…

"Did you see Ryan at all today?"

Though, he knew that Toby’s question carried with it no accusations or suspicions, Chris was stone sober. It was almost as if he was just realizing the possible repercussions of what he had done for the first time. He raped Ryan, and that would no doubt have an impact on Toby.

*Shit, shit, shit,* he chastised himself. He should have thought it through before…

Slowly, he stood up and wrapped his arms around Toby from behind. "No…" Lightly, he trailed his tongue across the soft underside of Toby’s earlobe. "Why, you in the mood again?" Chris breathed huskily making reference to the conversation that started all of this two nights before.

"Chris, not now, okay?"

Chris’ arms immediately loosened as Toby leaned down to pick up his basket and shove it under the bunk. Then he carried his folded laundry over to his footlocker.

Chris watched looking about as dejected as he could as he leaned back against the wall with his arms folded across his chest.

"What’s with you?"

"Nothing." Toby’s answer was short and unconvincing.

"Nothing," Chris repeated waiting for Toby to continue but he was met with silence. "Toby, if something’s wrong I want you to tell me."

"Chris, Its not… Its not my place."

"You and O’Reily," he stated spitefully.

"Leave it alone," he breathed in a choked whisper as he sat down hard on Chris’ bunk.

"Leave it alone, or leave you alone?" Chris answered letting his jealousy overwhelm him. He seemed not to have any control where Toby was concerned, over his actions, over the situation, or over himself.

Toby stood up immediately and headed for the door. "Both," he spat, and walked out.

Chris clenched his fists. Five minutes ago he knew that he was the cause for Toby’s behavior but now all he could see was red. O’Reily’s fault, fuckin’ O’Reily…

Knowing that Toby was most likely on his way to see him, there wasn’t anything that Chris could do at the moment, but that didn’t stop him from planning. He’d have to pay O’Reily another visit.

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

Toby entered Ryan’s pod cautiously. The Irishman, who was in his bunk facing away from him, spoke first, knowing that there was only one person that would dare enter his pod without so much as a rap on the glass.

"What is it, Beecher?"

At the sink, Toby noticed his towel, soaking wet and covered with blood. Uncomfortable, he turned the water on and started to rinse it.

"I thought that I’d get my towel."

His voice cracked and his hands were unsteady. Occasionally, he looked at Ryan through the reflection in the mirror, knowing that he was hurting in silence and alone.

"Cyril coming back from P.C. soon? Bet it’s been quiet in here without him…" He was blathering and he knew it, but he really didn’t know what to say. "The privacy must be nice, though…"

Ryan rolled over and looked at Beecher. Something in his eyes had changed, they were hard again and almost alive with electricity, but Beecher could still see the underlying pain.

"Ryan…"

He wasn’t able to get anymore out before Ryan interrupted, but he didn’t have to. With that one simple word, with the tone in his voice and understanding in his eyes, he touched that place in Ryan that he kept so well hidden from the rest of the world.

Beecher’s eyes, full of sadness and remorse bore into Ryan's soul making it difficult for him to focus. And Ryan knew that he had to stop Beecher before he said anymore, before he succeeded in tearing him down before he could reclaim his rank, his standing and his self worth.

He tried to sit up, but winced as his bottom made contact with the bed, his face contorting in pain the only tell tale sign that something was amiss. "I don’t need your pity, Beecher." He meant to sound firm, but hissed inadvertently.

"For God sakes, Ryan, it’s not pity. I know what you’re going through, what you’ve been through…"

Ryan’s eyes lit up in fury causing Beecher to take a step back. "It’s not the same law-boy. Not by a long shot! I ain’t been an’ never will be *any* *one’s* prag!" And then a second step back as though he’d been slapped in the face. The words hurt and hung thickly in the air between them, both as reminders and regrets.

"Fuck, I didn’t mean that, Beech." Ryan’s voice was soft, and Beecher knew that it really wasn’t meant to come out as harsh as it did, but it was true.

"Tell me what happened."

Bowing his head, Ryan tried to block out the images. "No, it’s not important."

Beecher approached him, and lay a hand across his leg, but Ryan maneuvered his leg out from under his hand and slid off the bunk. Turning on the sink, he began splashing handfuls of cold water on his face.

Suddenly, Mineo’s gruff voice echoed throughout Em City. "Count!"

Before reaching for the door, Beecher turned one more time to face Ryan. "I just wish you’d tell me who."

Ryan stayed facing the sink and avoiding the mirror as he listened to the pod door finally shut. Slowly, he brought his head up to face his reflection. "Be careful what you wish for…" And a smile crept across his battered features.

"95H522-Hill, 65R814-Rebadow, 98B242-Busmalis, 98K514-Keller, 97B412-Beecher…"

As Murphy continued through the line of inmates, checking them against his trusty clipboard, Beecher and Keller stood silent side by side.

Neither man was willing to acknowledge the other after their tiff earlier on until the two turned into the pod door at the same time. Shoulder to shoulder, neither would step back. Keller looked down at Beecher, eyes narrowing, and Beecher brought up his chin defiantly, then, they both started to laugh at the absurdity of the scene.

Once inside, Keller’s appearance humbled. He knew that Beecher had gone to see O’Reily, and though he didn’t think that Ryan gave him up, he decided to play it cautiously. Instead of saying anything, he sat on his bunk and waited to see where he stood with Toby by allowing the softness to show in his eyes and actions.

As Toby sat down heavily on the bunk, Keller instantly reached for him and began to knead his shoulders. "I’m sorry, Chris."

"You don’t have to tell me, but I’m here, okay?" Chris's voice was thick and surrounded Toby in supportive comfort.

Exhaling deeply, Toby dropped his head to Chris’ shoulder and groaned as Chris worked a particularly heinous knot. "I’m just glad that I have you now, you know? Something started me thinking and… Before…I--I guess that…" He was stammering slightly. "Well, If I take you for granted, I’m sorry."

Unbeknown to Toby, Chris winced at the sentiment as he pulled Beecher down onto his chest, and in long comforting sweeps, stroked his arms. He hadn’t meant to bring out Toby’s insecurities when he went off half cocked to deal with his own, and yet he had…again.

Always one to look out for himself-forced to look after number one this relationship with Toby was turning his entire world upside-down. His actions and reactions to situations were the same, but now, he didn’t just *have* to think of Toby, but through Toby, he had developed a conscience of his own.

"Yeah, Tobe, I know… Me too," he whispered.

In the quiet comfort of the early evening, Chris and Toby silently lay together on Chris’ bed, the upper bunk shielding them from the harsh florescent prison lighting and Chris’ love preventing anything from coming between them.

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

On the tier above them, Ryan pulled on his gray cut off sweat
pants, athletic socks and white tee shirt before climbing under the covers. It wasn't cold and it wasn't hot, but it wasn't pleasant either. He felt uncomfortable in his own skin.

"Lights out!"

Alone and locked in his cell he worked out the details of the next day. Such a simple plan he thought smugly, and though he knew that he’d have Chris beat, he couldn’t escape the damage that had already been done. Drifting through his subconscious were the images and imprints left behind by the attack.

Over and over again, his blood was brought to the boiling point as his body and mind forced him to remember, but unwilling to accept them, fear and disgust were pushed away, leaving room for his anger to erupt. A vicious cycle, but one that was helping his mind to focus.

The plan…

Finally he squeezed his eyes shut and took long slow breaths in an effort to calm his mind and bring on sleep. For the first time since his incarceration, he wished he had a pod mate. He needed a distraction-something to listen to; Cyril's incessant questions, Timmy Kirk’s snoring… Bitching, arguing, complaining, anything to keep his mind occupied, but there was nothing but his own thoughts, and his mind had turned on him.

Suddenly, he wasn’t alone.

An image of *him*- A clear picture of *his* smile, the size of *his* hands, he sound of *his* voice, the smell of *his* breath. He had been everywhere, and now, Chris was in his head as well.

He couldn’t seem to scrub the scent of him off of his body. He could smell the scent of him on his skin, hear him whispering in his ear.

Ryan started shaking. Vigorously he swiped his sweaty palms across the sheets, the moisture on his skin making him feel filthy. His lips twitched into a sneer and his muscles began to spasm in disgust. Not only was he an inmate in Oz, but now he was a prisoner trapped inside himself.

Sweating profusely he climbed out of bed and walked to the front of his pod. Pressing his face against the cool surface, he stared out into the blackness that surrounded emcity. Feeling vulnerable, he stayed in the shadows.

He felt like a small child again, remembering the days when the night was what had scared him. He had never told anyone that, not even Cyril. He was too macho to wake his younger brother for comfort.

Afraid of what would happen if he were to wake his father, attempting to get to his mother, the only person who really seemed to care, Ryan would pull the blankets from his bed and wander out into the hallway of his apartment. There, in front of his parent's room, he would huddle against the door and fall asleep. Just being close was enough, just listening to the sounds of sleep instead of the silence of the night.

His eyes were drawn to the dimly lit circle of the control center. There, Murphy sat in deep concentration scrawling on his clipboard. Finding the sight somewhat comforting, Ryan sat on the foot of Cyril’s bunk and wrapped himself in his brother’s blanket. There, propped up against the glass, he drifted in and out of sleep feeling a little less alone as he concentrated on tomorrow.

After tomorrow everything would be okay. After tomorrow…

8

It was irritating, keeping his head down while he dished out what was passing for breakfast. It was bad enough having to eat the shit, but to have his nose practically buried in it…

Beecher had been trying to get Ryan's attention; inconspicuously vying for eye contact as the line moved along and he advanced slowly with his tray. Ryan just couldn't handle those eyes right now.

From the doorway, Keller stood clandestinely watching as his lover approached wary of the fact that the Irishman would no doubt be making his move soon. With Ryan, he would expect nothing less.

Still, he also knew that if he kept the pressure on, Ryan O'Reily would stay right where he wanted him. He smiled to himself as he studied the dark circles already forming under the Mick's eyes and the absence of that irritatingly sly, crocodile smile, taking particular pleasure in the fact that he was the one to wipe it off of his normally smug face.

As he took a close look at his lover, Chris cringed. Beecher looked worn and almost as helpless as Ryan did. It was this constant that tore at him, this new found empathy he had for Tobias Beecher that was causing more guilt and sadness than any other being he had ever known.

****

When he reached the front of the line, Beecher stood in front of O'Reily waiting for recognition, staying put even after he had received his serving essentially holding up the line. Ryan wouldn't acknowledge him, only reached around him to dish out the next inmate's breakfast before a small riot ensued due to slow service. Soon though, as Beecher's presence began to draw suspicious looks Ryan reluctantly decided to appease him. In silent resignation, he met the blonde's anxious stare, if only for millisecond, a forced look of strength that was difficult to maintain due to Keller's tight and inescapable gape from the corner.

"How are you holding up?" Beecher breathed quietly.

"Not now, Beecher." As constant assembly line of inmates moved on, Ryan continued hash out spoonfuls of eggs onto their trays trying to ignore Toby's persistent presence.

"You look terrible," Toby continued.

"I'm fuckin' fine, Beecher. Shit, leave it…" Inadvertently, his raised tone brought about the one thing that he was trying avoid as numerous pairs of eyes turned their way. Lowering his voice, Ryan centered once again on Toby. "Look, later, all right?"

In the corner, Keller snickered to himself as he watched Beecher say something softly to Ryan before moving off with his tray, taking his customary seat between Rebabow and Busmalis. Waiting until he was far enough away, Chris grabbed a tray and pushed into line.

At the table Beecher occasionally let his gaze drift over to his friend with concern. He watched him and studied him making sure that he was all right. When Chris approached the head of the line, Ryan's demeanor visibly changed and drew Beecher's undivided attention.

Ryan seemed to withdraw and become edgy at the same time. His body shook and his muscles tensed. A thin sheen of perspiration beaded along his hairline.

The closer Beecher looked, the more evident it became that Chris was acting a little off as well, looking more confident than usual, and where Chris was concerned, overconfidence meant trouble.

Chris smiled smoothly as he reached out to lay his hand across Ryan's forehead, laughing as Ryan pulled away sharply. "You feelin' okay, O'Reily? 'Cause you ain't lookin' too hot; all pale and sweaty--a bit shaky too. Hey Pancamo," he called out, "I don't think O'Reily's feelin' too good."

A look of disgust crossed Ryan's hard features but before he could tell Keller to fuck off, Pancamo appeared next to the pair. Taking a quick glance at the Irishman, he immediately noticed his appearance; his skin not differing all that much from his kitchen whites in pallor.

"If you're sick, O'Reily, I don't want your ass contaminating my kitchen."

Chris met Ryan's eyes with a smirk and winked smugly. "Yeah, I'm fuckin' sick of this shit," he spat. Tossing the spoon into the pan of eggs in front of him, Ryan pushed passed Pancamo and strode out of the cafeteria.

Still watching from the table, Beecher fought the urge to run after him. Instead, he figured that he would wait until Chris sat down to find out what had gone on between the two, though he wasn't really sure he wanted to know.

The only problem was, just seconds after Ryan disappeared, so did Chris.

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

In the hallway, Ryan collapsed against the wall next to the stairwell and roughly rubbed the balls of his hands against his throbbing eyes. He was so tired and couldn't seem to pull himself together. The horror of the attack stayed with him through the night, but the fierce cramping and nausea from lack of tits was what was draining his fight.

If he could just find something…just one hit to help him through…As he pulled his hands away, he was greeted with an eerily sad and pitiful smile.

"What the fuck do you want?" He rasped angrily. Chris slowly stalked closer; immensely pleased to see Ryan's muscles tense in response.

"I'm not gonna' touch you, O'Reily…" He paused as he sized up the younger man. "That is, unless you want me to." The words stung added an edge to the already trembling Irishman.

Keller circled Ryan taking note of the familiar symptoms. "Withdrawal huh? That's gotta' be rough… I can help," he smiled, his voice carrying a singsong and mocking tone.

Swallowing hard, Ryan flinched as Chris made a sudden movement toward his shirt pocket. "Chill out, O'Reily. It's a peace offering that's all. Something to tide you over."

Fishing a small pouch out of his shirt, Chris held it in front of Ryan. He then opened the doorway to the stairwell, and gestured for O'Reily to go inside.

Ryan hesitated. "Scared?"

He knew it was a ploy but no one ever called an O'Reily scared to their face and got away with it. Pushing roughly passed him, Ryan stood firm and defiant against the wall.

Facing away from him, Chris held the heroin tight in his grasp. It was clear from his silence that he was carefully weighing what he was going to say.

"I can't do anything to change what I did to you, I know that," he said almost sincerely.

As Chris spoke, he tugged at the small pouch and splayed the open package out in his hand as he turned around. "But I can try and make up for it, right?"

"Tell you what you can do with that bag k-boy…" In truth, he wanted nothing more than to take it.

He had just hit his connection the day before and wouldn't be able to get his hands on more until the end of the week. Going to another source in the prison was out of the question. He absently licked his lips unable to take his eyes from the powder.

To go to any of the current dealers, the blacks, the spics, the guaps; would be either admitting that he was a junky; which was one more mental blow he couldn't handle right now, or admit to being a supplier; which would likely get him killed by the competition. Either way, the future was looking bleak and painful for him and the only remedy in sight seemed to rest in the hand of his enemy.

"Look, I'm sorry about how that went down. I know you don't believe me, but…"

"Liar," Ryan whispered harshly. "You fuckin' loved every minute of it." Abruptly, Ryan cut himself off shuddering and gasping as another wave of nausea and cramping gripped him. For hours he had been battling them alone with no relief in sight. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry out, he wanted to be held, but most of all he wanted *that bag of heroin. *

He tried his best to fight the searing pain in his gut but as it became unbearable, he doubled over slightly, inadvertently toppling into Chris. Ryan could feel his heart in his throat as Chris gently swept his free hand in slow soothing circles across the rounded slope of his shoulder.

"Come on O'Reily, you can't tell me that some part of you didn't enjoy it. You wanted it. I know it and so do you… You just didn't know it at the time. Admit it." Trying to push back, Ryan cornered himself against the wall.

"See O'Reily, I know that I was a bit…" Tenderly he ran the back of his fingers across Ryan's sweaty forehead and down his cheek as he continued. "…Out of control with you. You were right, I was jealous. I love Toby. He isn't just some fuck to me…and… hearing him talk about you the other night, how close the two of you were, how good you made him feel… how…attracted he was to you...well, I just got a bit carried away."

His lips were close enough to brush along the tender skin of Ryan's earlobe, and he held the drugs close to Ryan. "I *was* jealous," he whispered. "*But*…I wanted you bad, O'Reily."

The manipulating smoothness was hard to escape and Ryan found himself finally let go dropping further into Keller's hold.

Chris smiled as he touched him gently. That same hand that had inflicted such brutal force the day before, now caressed him lovingly and gave him something other than his suffering to focus on. "See, you want that touch even now."

Ryan silently shivered as the hand traveled slowly up and down his arm warming him against his chills. Their first meeting in the physical therapy room had been like this, a tightrope of lust and disgust, of drugs and desire and Ryan was starting to realize that Chris was right, he did want it in a way, needed it even, but that was before the pain.

"Forgive me." Chris moved slowly, his hands twisting lightly into the fabric of Ryan's shirt clutching gently at his waist, holding his trembling form closer. "I know I hurt you, but I can fix it. I can make it feel good."

In his haze of pain, Ryan was almost willing to believe him. Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe Chris had been just acting out of jealousy. Maybe he was just out of control. He briefly thought of what he-himself had done to Gloria.

Every touch in Oz, no matter how righteous the cause was twisted into something evil eventually... Chris had done it to Beecher in the beginning, and he came back for more.

"Take it," he whispered holding out the bag. "Don't fight it, O'Reily."

"F-fuck you," Ryan hissed quietly, the growing pain deep within his gut making it hard to see straight. "Fuck." He wanted it.

Dipping his little finger into the powder, Chris forced the digit between Ryan's tightly clasped lips. Slowly, Ryan's shaky fingers unhooked from around his midsection and cautiously wrapped around Chris' hand as he leaned down and inhaled. From above, a barely tangible kiss was lain on his head.

"We can work this out between us, O'Reily," he said quietly. "Just us…"

9

His pain was gradually ebbing, *gradually* being the operative word. That was odd for a drug that normally delivered an almost instantaneous rush. Though Ryan periodically found himself wrapped in a haze of unfeeling numbness, the pain was still there lurking just under the surface. He was on the floor with no idea of how he'd gotten there.

Supported against Chris' broad chest, Ryan drifted in and out of a state of semi consciousness while gently, Chris rubbed his stomach through the stiff fabric of his shirt. "How ya' doin' there, sport?" he whispered against Ryan's ear, his tongue flicking along the rim.

Ryan ached, from pain, from need, from exhaustion. "I need more," Ryan rasped, way too coherent for the amount of junk in his system. Whatever Chris had given him was not pure.

One by one Chris undid the buttons of Ryan's kitchen uniform, splaying the shirt open at his sides exposing the pale moist skin just as Ryan grimaced and shot forward in agony. Thanks to Chris' little pick me up the attacks were less frequent, but when they did hit, twice as severe….

Holding him, palm pressed flat against his chest, Chris rubbed the back of Ryan's dampened shirt in small circles. "Oh hey, shhhh, easy…"

Ryan groaned, his fists white knuckling against the pain. "Guess tits just ain't what they used to be, huh?" Pulling another bag out of his pocket, Chris held it up in front of him. "Think this ones any better?"

The fluctuation in Chris' voice caught Ryan's waning attention. Lifting his head, he gazed at the bag through a veil of sweat and urgency knowing that *it* was the real thing, unlike the diluted batch he'd just inhaled.

"What do *you* think, O'Reily?" Not a question, more like a proposition.

Ryan's eyes burned with contempt but remained on the bag. He sank his teeth deep into the soft flesh of his lip biting back a well deserved 'fuck you, Keller'. He would pay, no question, eventually, but God, right now it hurt.

Ryan was glad that Chris knew just how sick he was, that way he wouldn't have to cover the nausea that was slowly creeping into his gut. "What do you want from me, Keller?"

Chris smiled as he watched emotions that Ryan normally kept locked away play openly across his face. He hadn't expected it to be this easy but the Mick *did* look like shit.

"Nothing you don't owe me, O'Reily. This is the second favor that I'm doin' for you though…question is, what are you going to do for me in return?"

Concentrating on the bag, Ryan moistened his lips with his tongue and closed his eyes as he forced those three little words past the lump in his tightening throat. At least in his world of ignorant bliss he could remain somewhat oblivious to Chris' straying touch.

"You tell me," he whispered weakly.

Chris smiled an immorally gratified grin as a shiver of anticipation traveled through his body, watching as Ryan lifted his chin in silent invitation. *Gotta' love junkies,* he thought to himself.

"Come ere'," he growled, his large hand cupping Ryan's face gently.

Chris' lips were warm and soft against his own and though his face still flushed with humiliation, Ryan felt his defenses wavering. It wasn't supposed to feel this good… Chris' mouth sweeping across his, slowly pushing inside delicately exploring the moist confines with his tongue.

Ryan's skin was hot with fever, cold with fear and tightened with goose bumps. Strong callused fingers made their way down his chest, pausing to roll his exposed nipples sending an airy wave of guilty tremors throughout his body.

Pleasure, disgust and shame combined into one huge ball of emotion that centered itself in Ryan's stomach. For him, it was happening all too fast, his plan was falling down around him. He tried to distance himself from the warmth, from the sweet breath and gentle touch in a desperate attempt to remember what he was fighting against, only, this didn't feel like *it*.

He shuddered shamefully before a sudden hitching sob of pain forced him to pull away and a smothered cry blew from his lips. "Keller…" Ryan pleaded as hot tears blurred his vision. Chris held him through it, stroking his neck with his thumb, waiting patiently for him to catch his breath, but not letting him go.

"Chris…Please…"

Chris' eyebrows arched in pleasant surprise as he listened to Ryan beg. The kid wore desperation well. "But you're not paid up yet, O'Reily."

The words stung, but his tone remained oddly gentle. Ryan's eyes followed crestfallen as Chris stood and towered above him. "You got a problem, my man. You want me to keep your little secret, run interference for you, cop the shit, you're gonna' haf' ta' start payin' for it."

A patronizing caress grazed across Ryan's cheek. "*First* one's free, isn't that the way it works? Being a business man, you of all people should be able to appreciate that."

"Business…" Ryan repeated ironically. How many times had he used those same lines right before having some poor schmuck shanked for not paying up? The word now left a sour taste on his tongue just as he knew Chris was about to.

"Well… not all business. Some of it's personal," Chris added with a smile.

His hunger taking over, Ryan tossed what little dignity he had left to the curb. At least he wouldn't have to come out of the deal empty handed. "You'll get me more?" he double checked, slowly climbing to his knees.

"What are friends for?" he replied sardonically. Easy…

Ryan ignored the remark. If he was to give that statement any consideration he might actually start crying right then and there. He swallowed hard, as an old Irish saying repeated over and over in his head.

" Filleann an feall ar an bhfeallaire."

"The treachery returns to the betrayer." Only problem was, he couldn't figure out anymore, to whom the phrase was referring to, himself or Chris.

Closing his eyes, Ryan reached out clasping his shaky hands around the waistband of Chris' pants. No prison whites…

His cock head was already swollen and coated, glistening with discharge, an angry shade of red as it hung suspended under his nose. Turning his head away, Ryan took a deep breath so he wouldn't have to smell the heavy scent of sweat and semen. He was already on the verge of another bought of dry heaves.

The hardness felt awkward in his mouth, but Chris gave him little time to get used to it as he secured the top of his head and thrust inside. Ryan gagged against the sudden intrusion but held on, somewhere in the back of his head his twisted logic was telling him that if it was going to get around that he was a cocksucker, at least he would be a good one.

He tried to imagine Beecher, though in his little fantasy world, *he* wasn't the one on his knees.

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

"Ahhh fuck, yeah…" Keller's grip tightened as he shot his load. Convulsing and pressing Ryan's face into his crotch, he forced him to swallow every last spurt and then some disappointed though, when Ryan pulled away, not sticking around to lick him clean. "You could use some practice, but fuck, O'Reily, you could make a career outta' suckin' dick."

He tucked his cock back into his pants and looked over Ryan as he sat back against the wall, out of breath, flushed and unable to meet his eyes. "Damn that's sweet. If I didn't have places to be, I might just be inclined to return the favor…"

Ryan choked back the salty slick in his throat and leaned forward. "No more favors, Keller. It's business remember?" Exhaustion was weighing heavily on the younger man and it showed.

Keller laughed at Ryan's pitiful attempt at control. He wanted to say something to the effect of 'easy for you to say now without my dick in your mouth, O'Reily. Wait 'til tomorrow and we'll see…' but he thought better of it.

Ryan had been almost sweet in his need, reacting to his mouth and hands, subtle moans and tentative touches lulling Keller into a more tender joining with his adversary than he had originally planned or thought possible. He felt the urge for one more kiss and patronized the younger man with an overblown pout when he flinched away from his descent.

"Relax, Ryan." His fingers were demanding as they held him still but his lips were just as smooth and as gentle as before.

Deep down, Ryan knew that there was some twisted sense of respect between them, If there wasn't, he was pretty sure that he would have been dead in the laundry room. If the feeling wasn't mutual, he *knew* that Keller would be.

The kiss lingered; Chris' lips adhering to his, moist and soft. Peeling away slowly, he rubbed his hand down Ryan's chest bringing forth a hitching breath, then covered him with his open shirt before standing up.

"Don't let yourself go, O'Reily, that heroin does nasty things to a person's body," he advised sincerely as he tossed the pouch onto Ryan's chest.

He watched as Ryan eagerly tore into the bag, a pang of guilt dulling his triumph. The look on the Irishman's face was comparative to orgasm, chewing listlessly on his lower lip, arms falling into his lap as his body's ache was temporarily eased.

"Stop by and see me before count, I'll have something to get you through the night, no strings."

Ryan's head fell forward heavily, but the trademark mistrusting eyes remained intact, his narrow gaze asking the question, but Keller's eyes showed something resembling compassion.

They took one last look at each other knowing that what had gone on between them wouldn't leave the stairwell.