by
Fandom: Oz
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Beecher/Keller
Author's Note: I am a huge fan of Oz, and a total Beecher/Keller slut. This is my version of what was going through Chris Keller's mind as he lies in the hole after the first kiss.
Copyright and Disclaimer: OZ and the characters of Beecher, Keller, and Schillinger are copyright Tom Fontana and HBO. I make no claims to ownership or creation. This bit of not for profit modern folklore (thank you Prof. Jenkins) is mine.
"Once the avalanche has started, it is too late for the pebbles to vote."
--From Babylon 5--
Oh, God help me, it started out as a game. Something to do — a way to even things out with Vern Schillinger. A way to finally break free of that bastard. Sure, fuck some prag of Schillinger's over. Yeah, no problem. Wasn't like it was somebody I knew and cared about, no skin off of my back, right?
But (oh God) the taste of him and that smell — clean with an undernote of salt musk. And...and, it had been so long since somebody had touched me, kissed me because they meant it. He felt so very warm and so very right and I wanted it so much and it wasn't a game anymore and that scared me scared me like I haven't been scared in years and the hack hammered hammered hammered on the glass and...and I grabbed a chance at an out.
So, here I am. If I was a different man, I'd be showering with Toby right now. We'd play it cool, or maybe we'd just say to hell with it and soap each other up. I'd trail my hand down his lean flank, and he'd caress my shoulders. I know he likes them, I've seen him study them often enough. But no, we wouldn't do that, as much as both of us would like to. It's too obvious. The hacks would be on us like white on rice, swinging by our pod every 10 minutes after lights out, hoping to catch us. No, we'd just give each other looks, those hot, knowing looks. The kind you give to woman you meet in a bar and you know without even saying a word that you'll be fucking before the night is out. Only with them, you both know that that's all there is. Come morning she kicks you out of her bed and her life. Being with Toby, well, it would be like — like marriage.
I wonder what kind of noises he makes. Is he a moaner? Does he make a little under the breath whimper? Does he gasp? Does he babble? Or is he one of those silent ones? I love that region just under where the ear meets the jaw. It's salty, and when you work on somebody there you know what kind of noises they make. Is he one of those guys where that spot is hyper sensitive? I know I am — get me there and I practically levitate.
Would it be quick? Or would he let me lick and nibble and slurp his 2000 body parts? Would he get off on the idea that at any moment we could be caught? Or would he constantly be fighting off that fear? How would he touch me? Would he find out about my neck or would I have to tell him? Would he leave a hickey? How far would we go, what would we do? Handjobs? Nah. Would we hump up against each other? It's easier to kiss that way. Blowjobs? Actual fucking? What would he feel like in me? Could I show him that it can be good for the guy on the bottom too? Not like what Vern —
Vern. (shit)
So, here I am. The cement is damp and cool and smells like stone, like a cave, like one of those big cathedrals. So perhaps a confession of sorts....
I love Tobias Beecher. I do. I'm going to fuck him over anyway. I hate myself already. I love Toby. But I'm afraid of Vern Schillinger. Maybe someday Toby will understand. I do love him, I do. But fear trumps love every time.
Last Updated: 3/8/2004