~ Christmas fallen angels ~
**********
The phone rang in the early morning, the sound echoing in the empty house and Toby ran from upstairs, hoping against all hope that someone would bring a miracle, that he was safe.
"Hey, how d'ya feel?"
Chris' voice in the distance brought tears to his eyes, he clutched the phone tighter.
"Where the fuck are you?"
"I'm in LA; I'll be back tomorrow; I wanna see you."
"Christ; see me? What for? Fuck me?"
"Yeah, that and talk with you about what you've got coming."
Toby sighed and sat down on the couch. "No."
"Toby, you'll need some help."
"I don't want any. What I want it's just… be with someone who doesn't look at me as if I was some fucking freak."
The silence stretched between them; Toby heard voices, music, and Chris' even breathing.
"Where are you?"
"In a hotel bar; listen, Toby, pick me at the airport tomorrow night, 8:00."
He spent the whole day sitting on a chair in the kitchen, trying to shake away the stupor that seemed to paralyse his mind since he'd confessed; trying to turn the nightmare into an acceptable reality, angry after Chris for coaxing him into this choice he hadn't wanted to make, hoping he would wake up to find out that it was only a terrifying dream –except he knew that it wasn't.
At eight, Chris walked into the main hall of the airport, wearing jeans, a black turtleneck and a leather jacket, no luggage, he looked… free, unbelievably free and Toby felt the pain in his chest, and maybe he would've walked away but some sixth sense had warned Chris and he turned to him before Toby could even move; then his fingers closed on Toby's arm, holding him still.
"Hey, you look great!" He said in the same low voice he'd had in bed, "come on, let's go."
"Where? Where do you want to go?"
"Schillinger's in Europe for some time; I've got the keys of his apartment, let's go."
"I don't wanna go there."
Chris turned to him, his eyes cold. "Don't waste my time and yours, Tobias Beecher; I wanna fuck you first, and then we have a lot to talk about." His hand snaked on Toby's thigh, higher along his crotch, and was pushed away carelessly, Toby hissing like an angry cat.
"Get away from me, and go wherever the fuck you want; I'm not your bitch, I don't have to obey you."
Chris laughed, a genuinely amused laugh and stretched.
"Yeah, keep it up, baby, you'll need the fighting spirit soon." A cab stopped by them, Chris pushed Toby inside, still laughing, "Come on, Beecher, let's go."
In the cab, Chris rested his hand on Toby's hand, his thumb stroking his pulsing wrist, desire slowly creeping up Toby's spine, burning him.
Schillinger's apartment was quiet and warm; they kissed in the hall, long enough to suffocate, each man's hands roaming under the other's shirt, tearing it off and Chris closed the door on them before slamming Toby against the wall, his fingers on the waistband of his pants, yanking them down, kissing him again, hard, seizing his cock and pumping him into pleasure, listening to those noises that made him crazy, slowing down to make Toby beg, teasing the head, pressing it between thumb and forefinger and squeezing lightly, feeling Toby's knees buckle and warm come spill all over his hand, over his clothes and Toby's clothes; holding the quivering body against him long enough to make sure Toby wouldn't collapse on the floor.
"Jesus, I wanna fuck you, Toby, you're so hot," he whispered against Toby's parting lips.
Chris was rough and merciless, stripping a breathless Toby down, pushing him down on his elbows and knees, "From behind, yeah, that's the way I want you today," he said, stroking Toby's ass, his hands roaming over his back and neck, enjoying the warm smoothness of the skin there. He let go of him just long enough to lube himself and entered him; too fast, not enough preparation, no condom, Jesus, he was crazy but Toby didn't even want to think about it, didn't want to feel the pain, just the breathtaking rhythm of Chris' cock thrusting deep inside him, their moans of pleasure filling the room and Chris' voice urging him to move back, to take him deeper, to open up more and more, until Toby couldn't take his weight any longer and collapsed, his forehead on his wrists against the cold Venetian tiles, his body on fire, held up by Chris' fingers bruising his hips. A hand slid down and closed around his cock, stroking once, twice, drowning Toby in a vertiginous pleasure, growling, "you needed this, didn't you?" and it was Chris' turn to come, roaring his pleasure in the silence of the luxurious apartment.
Later they were sitting face to face in the tidy kitchen, eating donuts, waffles, drinking an excellent coffee –Schillinger had some taste when it came to his own pleasure.
"How long before the sentence?" Chris finally asked.
"The first pre-trial hearing was last week; I paid an exorbitant bail, nearly ruined my father, and according to Neill Phillips –he's my lawyer- next hearing's in two months from now; I should be sentenced then."
Chris nodded, sipping his coffee.
"How do you feel about it?"
"I feel like a living dead; it's like living in limbo; everybody making plans for later when I won't be here anymore," his voice faltered, he clenched his fists, sticking his nails in the palm of his hands to fight the rising panic, "exactly as if I wasn't in the room; and when they talk to me..." He didn't finish, just shook his head angrily –anger was something new, Chris thought, and something good; anger would give Toby the strength to fight when the time comes.
"But you made the right decision; you must know this at least."
Toby kept silent for a while and sighed. "The right decision? How can I be sure? I only have your word on that; I'm not even certain that Schillinger is as dangerous as you're pretending he is; I think maybe death was the right solution. Do you know how hard it is?"
Chris rose and stretched, held out his hand. "Come on, come with me."
They walked into the living room, sat on the couch together, looking at the snow lazily falling outside the window, Toby wallowing in the depressing thought that a snowy night like this one, something so evident, so simple, would be an inaccessible dream for the years to come.
"Why would I lie to you?" Chris asked.
Toby turned to look at him.
"Do you love me?"
"Yeah," he said and kissed him, Toby's lips parting against his own, "And you made the right choice, trust me. How much do you think you'll get?"
Toby closed his eyes, sighed again. "Neill thinks…"
"I don't give a damn about what Neill thinks, what do *you* think, Toby?"
"I think I'm in deep shit."
"Nothing new about that."
Toby rose and walked to the window, pressing his forehead and his palms against the cool glass. "I will have missed the best part of my life when I walk out, missed my kids growing up; if I ever walk out alive."
"Does it help if I remind you what Kathy Rockwell and her parents missed?"
Toby sighed. "No. Actually I find it rather disturbing, this way you have to remind me constantly of my … mistake…"
"Mistake?"
"Call it the way you like, OK? Anyway, who are you exactly to give me those sanctimonious advice about what I should feel, and what I should do to redeem myself? From what I know, you're not exactly the poster boy for morality."
Chris rose and came behind him, resting his hand on Toby's shoulders, brushing his lips against the nape of his neck.
"The difference between us both," he said, "is that you still feel something; guilt, shame, whatever; you can be redeemed. I can't, I fucking can't, and besides, I don't want to be the one who'll take you to the place where they'll kill you."
"You said you never did that."
"I never kill them, but I take them to Vern's friends, which is exactly like leading those poor fucks to the slaughter."
Toby shivered, leaned back against the strong body. "When I go to prison, I want you to leave Schillinger."
"You don't *leave* Schillinger, Toby, he knows a whole fucking lot about me, I know a lot about him; he wouldn't let me leave alive."
Two strong hands snaked under Toby's shirt, stroking his back lightly while lips roamed over his jaw; Toby had to gather all his strength up and asked, "How did you meet him?"
"I did time, long ago, I was 17; he offered to protect me against other inmates who would've raped me, then when he was released, he managed to get my sentence reduced. I've been living with him more or less, since."
"Do you love him?"
"What fucking question is this? What do you think? Do you imagine anyone could fall in love with Vern Schillinger? Or that he would fall in love with anyone? Don't be stupid, Toby, there's no love here; just a profitable alliance."
The words sounded harsh, but the hands on his back stroked lightly and Toby let go, gave up, rested more of his weight against Chris' body.
"How long can you stay?" Chris asked.
"As long as I want. Gen's gone to California with the kids; she has trouble coping with the situation; guess I disappointed her badly, she went to her parents' place, calls me once a day, talks to me, let me talk to the kids and cries. Actually all I have to do is give a phone call, report to the pre trial service agency, let them know once a week that I'm still around."
The caressing hands slid on his chest, his belly, stilled around his waist, Chris' lips never breaking contact.
"What are you afraid of? What scares you most?" he asked.
Toby shook his head. What scared him? Everything did.
"I'm afraid I'm not able to live through it; I'm afraid I'm not strong enough. I'm afraid of losing my freedom, of being killed, hurt, of being too weak…" He stopped and shook his head, "all of it."
Chris pulled him back on the sofa and they stayed like that for a while.
"I can help you go through. Prepare you, tell you what it's like, what you have to do, what you'd better avoid, I can do that."
"Like you prepared me for Vern?" Toby asked bluntly, feeling some of the anger rise back.
"Not the same kind of preparation, but yes, you got it; train you, make things easier for you when you're inside."
Make things easier… Toby had been drowned in a whirlpool of fear since the very moment he'd heard the sickening thud of a body hitting the hood of his car; since he'd run away, senseless and shaking; since Vern Schillinger had stepped in his office on a morning of July, stiff and threatening; since he'd agreed to be used and abused by unknown men, hurt and humiliated; but making up his mind that morning, stripping himself willingly of his freedom, his family, his reputation had been the worst moment in his whole life.
He'd left Vern's apartment and Chris' warm and sleeping body before dawn delighted and sore from an unforgettable night; called a cab; and 15 minutes later, he'd rested a hand on the taxi driver's shoulder and said tonelessly, "stop here." Then he'd spent a full hour on a bench in the freezing air where Christmas spirit was supposed to linger, watching the stairs that led to the police station, trying to make up his mind, and eventually walking inside on a mere impulsion because he had to take the risk; because what he'd experienced between Schillinger's hands scared him shitless; because he was afraid of nightmares poised on the edge of sleep and because he trusted Chris Keller.
He'd told his story in a lifeless voice, shaking with cold and shock; they'd called a doctor because he was about to pass out, exhausted; they'd asked questions about the bruises and the cuts; he'd just given some lame explanations about needing the pain to overcome the guilt and they'd looked at him with disgust and contempt; that's what I deserve for what I've done, he'd thought, and cried aloud in this interrogation room, helpless.
"The judge didn't take very well the fact that I'd run away, leaving the girl behind me without even checking if she was dead or alive; I called an ambulance from my car; Christ, I can't believe I've done that –hit and run, murder on the second degree, that's how it's called; and let's not forget DUI. I'm fucked."
He leaned back on the couch, his head on Chris' lap, Chris' fingers in the loose strands of his hair, stroking.
"I don't know what took over that day; the fear or the drunkenness, but whatever it was it took away any hint of lucidity, of conscience, turned me into some animal, I felt nothing, no remorse, no real shame, just the fear that my life would be turned upside down, the fear to lose everything I had… It makes me sick just to think about it."
Chris said nothing, his fingers never letting go of Toby's hair, his eyes on the thick strands curled around his fingers, silky, shaded with copper in the light of the lamp.
"Come on, you're not that bad," he said after a while.
But Toby knew better.
Later, they fucked again, sweet and slow lovemaking, Chris' desire burning the fear and the guilt; in the middle of the night Chris took him to a bar, downtown, a place so seedy Toby thought he wouldn't be able to walk inside, but Chris seized his arm and dragged him to a table.
"Jesus, what's this place? The gates of hell?"
"It's called the Bluebird and I'm a regular customer, so don't thing about dissing my friends around here, they can be rather touchy."
Toby gave a look around and breathed deeply… "They're sizing you up, Toby, trying to guess what kind of a guy you are. If they think you're weak, that you're easy, they'll pounce."
One of the men, huge and broad, tattooed from the nape of his neck to his wrists, winked at him and Toby frowned; the other man blew a kiss to him, laughed and Toby blushed, turned questioning eyes to Chris. He could hear the whispers, the rumour surrounding him.
"You'll have to make friends when you're inside, Toby, and learn the rules that apply in prison, nothing like the ones you know outside."
He waited for a long haired fierce looking bartender to drop their drinks on the table and asked, "Which rules?"
"Do what you have to; mind your own business, be smart, watch out, let them know who you are before they think you're just too weak, which means, fight back if they try to take you down, rape you, anything. You might get a beating or two but over the long haul, it's worth it. Respect is what you need, what everyone needs there."
Toby listened, stunned. Did Chris really expect him to be able to fight? He'd never physically fought before, and he was weak, where was he supposed to find all the strength he seemed to need?
"Jesus I can't do that."
"Yes you can. Look at them.. All of them bad boys. You may think you got nothing in common with any of those slugs but you'll find out you have; and some of them aren't so bad, they could be friendly, they'll give you advice –follow them; just stay away from fucking psychos, keep away from them, those are the dangerous kind, the lethal one."
Toby looked at him, focused, and asked the question that had been on his mind for days now.
"I don't think I can do that."
"You can and you will."
"You're expecting too much, Chris."
Chris barked a cold laugh. "What you've done with Vern… Did you ever think you'd be able to take that? You've got two months left before leaving your sweet cosy world, Tinkerbell; I'll show you the ropes; I'll teach you; when you'll set foot in the receiving area, you'll be ready. Trust me."
Toby snorted, "Looks like you know your subject really well!"
"Yeah, I had time to learn; I spent a whole fucking year in one of the worst hell hole I've ever seen, some time ago."
"Did Schillinger take you out of there?"
"Not this time. He'd gone abroad for a while to let the justice forget about him."
"Will you really make me stronger? Teach me?"
"I won't make you stronger, Toby, I'll just teach you where your strength lies. Now, come on, let's enjoy the place."
And he had. Many guys there knew Chris, some of them had worked with him, whatever this "work" could be, some of them knew about Schillinger; some of them had done time; they looked at Toby gauging him, and began to talk, providing stunning information about the way prison worked, the routine, the shakedown, the hole; names too, of guys he could meet there, some he should avoid, some he should hang around with; told him about the weapons, each of them proud to tell about his experiences, his fights, how they'd beaten some cocksucker in the shower, how they'd been dragged to the hole when the fucking hacks had found some drugs hidden under the mats of their cells; and Toby listened to them like a child listens to story he doesn't quite comprehend, half fascinated, half appalled, glancing surreptitiously at bulging muscles, tattoos, scars, Chris' arms holding him loosely until he couldn't stand up anymore.
He dozed off in the car, woke up when Chris stopped the car in Schillinger's parking lot; stretched like a cat.
"You could grow a beard; could help make you… just a little less attractive; older."
"Fuck you, Keller."
Chris laughed, pulled him to him, kissed him; they couldn't get enough of each other, Chris' eyes were shining.
"Ah, OK, as you like; but think about it. This and I'm gonna take you to the gym every fucking day until you put on some muscles, I'm gonna teach you how to fight and when I'm done with you, even the guys from the Aryan Brotherhood will leave you alone."
And how fucked up was that? Toby enjoyed every moment, every step of his initiation, spending all his free time with Chris, leaving the whole legal bullshit to his father and his lawyer; and all the time he didn't spend with Chris, he spent it with his kids, eager to be a father they would remember whatever happened; only Gen's unexpected decision to file for divorce tainted his mood; he knew he'd lost something there he would never find again, a love so sweet and true it had looked like a dream in the beginning, Gen clinging to his arm, smiling shyly at him, her eyes lost in his; until Gary was born and the magic began to recede, until their marriage became like any other one, something realistic and boring –but the memories were good, eating spaghettis from the same plate, fighting in the swimming pool, making love on a sunny afternoon, a cold night, a lazy morning, kissing for hours before leaving for work, marvelling over the little bodies their love had brought to life, all blond hair blue eyes and angelic smiles... He'd lost that too, and he was the only one to blame.
And now he'd fallen for the devil, a fallen angel, his arms so strong around him, his kisses so addictive, his laugh so infectious; and his once rosy coloured world, barely tainted by the too many martinis he used to drink before driving back home, had turned into some smouldering heaven where pleasure had nothing to do with Gen's sweet embrace; all rough and scratching stranglehold, breathtaking and bruising lovemaking, his body sprawled under Chris' body, skin sliding against sweaty skin, begging for release while warm lips explored every part of him.
"No, not now, not like that, I'm too sore," he said that day when Chris pinned him to the mattress in the gym, and Chris bared his teeth to him; "I love it when you're sore," he said, and using as much lube as Toby needed he thrust inside him, making him stiffen and moan in pain, sweat rolling down his forehead, until the caresses, the kisses, the soft words and the unbearable slow rhythm of his cock thrusting into Toby's body burned away the pain, until Toby arched his back to increase the pressure and yelled, his head thrown back, his heart beating too fast against Chris' chest.
Fucking, fighting, wrestling, learning the ropes, talking about what would happen and how, spending most of his nights spooned against Chris' body was so close to happiness, and so close to disaster that sometimes he was just about to run away, wondering how something so wonderful could lead to such a painful way out.
"Will you come visit me?" Toby dared to ask one day, dreading the answer.
Chris sat down on the bed, and framed Toby's face in his hands.
"Listen, I've been in prison for much too long, those times are over; the day I'll set a foot in a prison will be the day I get caught, handcuffed and brought down by half a dozen of cops."
Toby had bit his lips and rose. "I guess I should've known. Why are you doing that, then?"
Chris pulled him back, half naked, sat him on his lap and licked the sweat on his shoulder, sensuous and burning, and said, "Isn't it obvious, Toby?"
"Then why do you stay with Schillinger?"
"Drop this, you don't wanna know; come on, now, fuck me, I wanna feel you inside me."
Toby wanted to pretend that fucking wasn't what he wanted right now, but his body betrayed him; just watching Chris naked body made him want to tear his clothes to pieces and fuck him hard on the gym floor where he'd been pumping iron for the last hour; and that's exactly what he did.
A week before Beecher's court hearing, Schillinger entered his apartment late at night and stepped inside, stumbling on discarded clothes and shoes, dropping his luggage on the floor before stepping into the living room, and stopped at the sight of the two naked men sleeping on the carpet, in front of the window, Chris' arms circling Beecher's body, his face against Beecher's too long hair, their bodies limp. Jesus, the guy had put on some muscles, he thought, coming closer, crouching in front of them, taking in the slender muscular frame of this new Tobias Beecher and Chris' naked body, as alluring as it had been so long ago in this cell in Lardner, listening to their breathing, and when he shook them, Chris just hugged his lover tighter, buried his face deeper.
"Come on, boys, wake up!" They rose, confused, Toby swaying in Chris' arms, livid.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Chris snapped, ready to fight.
"Shut up, Chris; this is my apartment, you weren't supposed to turn it into some love shack," Vern hissed, angry suddenly, and pointing to Toby, he commanded, "get dressed and fuck off! Now!"
Chris drove him back to his house, silent and lost in thoughts that darkened his look. When he stopped the car, he just said.
"I won't be able to see you again. It's over."
Toby lowered his head. "Yeah. Guess I'd better spend this last week with my family. But I didn't like having my ass kicked out like some stupid teenager caught in the act."
"It could've been worse, Toby."
And for the first time since they'd met, Chris looked defeated. Toby ran his hand under the leather jacket and pulled him closer; kissed him until they couldn't breathe anymore.
"Christ, I'm gonna miss you like hell when you're gone."
Later he couldn't remember who'd said that.
"So? How long?"
"15."
Vern Schillinger whistled and leaned back into his chair, his eyes on Chris impassive face. "That's a long time. But looks like you won, great job. Do you think he'll survive prison? From what I know, Oz isn't exactly the sweetest place in the world."
"Yeah, well, we'll see. Fuck, I'd hoped for 10. 15 makes a really long time."
Chris' terseness gave him away more than anything else.
"Come on, Chris, he' got what he deserved. And you won the bet, deserve your reward."
"Keep it, keep the money," Chris said, his tone brief, "just promise me something instead."
"Ah, what now?"
"Promise me that you'll make sure the Aryan Brotherhood leaves him alone."
Vern's face froze in a thoughtful expression and he shook his head.
"I don't have any real reason to do this."
Chris tilted his head on one side and gave him a wicked promising smile; Vern laughed, "You'll have to be very convincing, Chris."
"Anything you ask."
Vern nodded and leaned forward, his words pouring into Chris' ear.
"I'd planned a little party next week, expected your bitch to entertain my friends, but now that he's gone I'm afraid you have to take his place. Would you do this for him? Sacrifice yourself for him?"
Chris shrugged and leaned forward, his mouth brushing against Schillinger's lips, and said, "Anything you ask, just promise me he'll be safe."
Vern's fingers traced the curve of a shoulder, the muscles of Chris' arms.
"He will. But I won't promise you anything else."
Chris nodded, grabbed Vern's shoulders and kissed him hard, because it was the only way he knew to shut him up.
Tbc…