*************
The course of true love never did run smooth...
“Do you really think, Tobias, that Mr Keller would… blackmail you? Denounce you? Use this picture against you? Isn’t it a little… exaggerated?” Sister Pete was talking in that smooth patient tone she probably would’ve used with a stubborn child, her eyes on Beecher’s tense shoulders.
Beecher turned to watch her, uncertain looking –exactly like he’d been years ago, standing here, talking about Lennox.
“I think he might.”
Sister Pete shook her head and sat behind her desk. She didn’t like what Tobias was telling her and more than that, she hated what he didn’t say. Lennox’s death had been a relief, freeing Toby from his unhealthy passion and for a while, until today actually, she’d believed that Tobias would cling to Katherine McClain. She was a no-nonsense attractive smart woman, exactly what he needed. And now…
“Tobias, as much as I hate to interfere with anyone’s life, I really think this is not what you need at the moment. As I told you before…”
“Don’t Sister. I’m beyond help.”
Then *why* do you keep coming here, seeking advice you won’t even follow, she wanted to ask. Instead, summoning her professional skills, she said, “No one is beyond help, Tobias. Now if you would tell me more about Mr Keller, I’m listening.”
“Not judging.”
“No. Not judging.”
“He’s Michka Rivers’ son. Remember? I asked you about her two weeks ago.”
Sister Pete gave him a stunned look but kept silent.
As he tried to explain to Sister Pete the little he knew about Keller, Beecher realized he was far more intrigued by the man than he initially thought; he’d first pegged Keller as the ambitious self-made man, arrogant and cynical, straight and tough.
Somehow though, it didn’t fit.
***********************************
Fucking, even once, makes all the difference. Makes you see all the little things you never noticed before –the way Beecher wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, the way his face scrunches up when he’s unsettled, and this noise, half snort, half mocking laugh that you came to associate with *him*. Makes you purr and want to do it again. And again. And again. Bury your cock in this wet heaven of a mouth, let Beecher bring you over the edge with skilful ease until you clench your fingers in his hair and bite back a growl; then pull him up and shove him against the wall, make him come with long slow thrusts, whispering dirty in his ear.
Yeah, well, get a grip, Keller. Beecher’s a nutcase and you should know better than going there. You should remember you promised yourself *never* to commit yourself to anyone like him.
But then… A couple of –very enjoyable- fucks don’t make a commitment, does it? so what’s the problem? Come on, he’s good; why not just enjoy it for a while?
On the other hand, they’re also working in the same field and they meet on a regular basis in places that have nothing to do with fucking; this relation is a threat to his career. Time to know what you’re looking for, Keller; he doesn’t like you; someday he’s going to expose you for what you are and then what will you do? Plus he’s more or less dirty. You don’t like that.
Actually Keller intends to break up, he really does; it’s the sensible thing to do; he prepared a nice speech and he’s going to deliver it any day now.
But Beecher, vicious bastard that he is, cuts the grass under his feet; probably he’s done some thinking of his own.
“I don’t like you,” he says on their fifth morning as he finishes dressing, sitting on the edge of Keller’s bed, “I don’t agree with any of your ideas, I don’t share any of your opinions. Sex isn’t enough; we have to stop this.”
And that… that Beecher dares say it... Takes Keller completely off-guard, rousing the sleeping anger coiled inside him.
“It didn’t occur to me that you had to feel any esteem for your fucks. Didn’t stop you from fucking Lennox, did it?”
“That was in prison; call it whatever you want, I have no explanation but the fact is that I probably shared more with him than I do with you.”
“I fucking can’t believe it. You really did choose your side, didn’t you?”
“You don’t understand. Loving Duane was… situational; love born from the place, the moment, the circumstances and a mutual need. Plus, let me tell you something, Keller; killing himself with something that belonged to me tainting whatever reputation I had left somehow took the edge of.”
Ah. This is the beginning of a confession, maybe.
“Yeah well, psychos do those things, didn’t you know? Relying on what they call *love* is like sitting on a time bomb. You weren’t that naïve, were you? Letting you go must’ve been hard enough; hurting you in the process was a nice compensation.”
“Psychos… Takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”
“Must be the company I’ve been keeping lately.”
Beecher’s scowl almost makes him smile; get a grip, Keller, don’t let him play you for a fool.
“Anyway now the situation’s clear,” he says “we’re done. That’s a relief.”
So why does it hurt so much? Why does he feel so cheated?
Beecher calls for a taxi; five very awkward minutes and he’s gone; but before he closes the door he says, “The only thing I’m ready to concede is that you are a much better fuck than he was. I hope it soothes your bruised ego.”
That leaves Keller speechless; being treated like that by this … piece of work… He watches Beecher walk away, anger blazing and sinks into the nearest armchair, determined to drown his feelings in anything strong enough. Scotch will do; lots of it.
Bitch, he thinks, alone in his living room still haunted by Beecher’s presence, his scent and the sound of his voice. Fucking miserable prison bitch… Someday you’ll pay for this.
He retrieves the picture he stole at Beecher’s place, looks at it and calls Reuben, tells him he might have something in Lennox suicide case; Reuben doesn’t sound absolutely enthusiastic about it but Keller’s too severely drunk and hurt to care.
He thinks he’ll dream about the revenge to come; instead of that…
He’s back in Aunt Frannie’s little house in the eastern suburbs of the city. Keller never really loved her; he has no love left for anyone after what happened; he’ll never feel anything for anyone anymore; he grows distant and silent and more solitary as time goes by.
He’s a wary little boy of 11; he still has nightmares about his mother. Nightmares about losing her, nightmares about her coming back. The doctors tell him that he doesn’t have to be scared; nightmares are for the mind to get rid of fears, nightmares are good even if he wakes up crying, terrified… Keller doesn’t believe them; how would he, that sounds so stupid.
So… He’s lying half-asleep and suddenly here she is, livid and skinny, her hair tangled, baring her teeth at him, holding a knife and muttering curses. He just lies there shaking, thinking ‘It’s a dream; she’s not really here…’ A noise jolts him fully awake; Frannie’s rushing through the room, turning on the light and screaming while the ghost of Michka, the demon who possesses Michka, the other Michka that lives in the same body as *hers* raises the knife, ready to strike, the blade shining under the light like some venomous reptile. Instinct makes him duck and roll on his side across the mattress, then down to the floor, crawling under the bed. Then Frannie’s yelling, people rushing up the stairs and sirens already screaming outside…
He wakes up soaked with sweat, the sheets damp and cold; suspect wetness running down his cheeks. Unexpected tears.
Yeah, well, he thinks, I’m fucking done with all the nutcases no matter how hot they look.
************************
The week went on without Beecher. On Friday he caught a glimpse of him walking out of the courthouse, hair too long catching the rays of sun like copper, skin slightly tanned and something in his stride that made Keller hungry. He was about to walk after him when Reuben called him from the doorstep of his office.
“Keller… That evidence you wanted to produce against Beecher in Lennox’ case…”
Keller turned, his face frozen in a bland expression.
“Do you have it?”
Keller counted to three. “Well, I’m afraid it was a wrong track… Sorry about that.”
“OK. OK.” Reuben looked oddly relieved “So the case’s closed for good?”
“Yes. I’d say so.”
Reuben nodded, shook his head and walked away. Shit, Keller thought, I’m getting soft, and turned his face to the doors again, saw Beecher stepping in a black car –whose? The pang of jealousy took him off guard. Jesus, he had it bad for the guy.
He expected to see Beecher again at the end of the week; they were supposed to be in the courtroom together –well, maybe together was the wrong word to use - a case involving a former house breaker. Keller suspected him to be guilty of a little more than what he was charged with; maybe he had killed a girl. Not much evidence, the guy was silent as the grave and Keller didn’t hold his breath, just doing his job.
But Beecher wasn’t there and it was his father pleading. Keller lost –well, society lost, the guy gave Keller a triumphant look and Keller shrugged, turned away and walked up to Beecher’s father to greet him and ask about Toby.
Harrison Beecher had probably heard about Keller; he gave the ADA a wary look and explained reluctantly.
“He was assaulted three days ago in Oz; some guys got him in a corridor. They wounded the hack...”
“How badly is your son hurt?”
“Bad enough. He was in the hospital but he checked himself out yesterday. He couldn’t plead today, I took his place. God; sometimes I wish someone was able to talk some sense inside into him …”
Beecher’s father stopped, looking embarrassed; he sighed and walked away.
Keller drove to Beecher’s apartment straight from the courthouse, trying to calm down the sudden anger.
When Beecher opened the door Keller saw the black eye and the bruise on the side of his face, the cut on the temple. But the gaze aimed at him was clear and cold.
“Fuck off. I don’t remember inviting you.”
“Open the fucking door already; your father told me what happened.”
“Listen, a thousand people already told me all the smart things I should do…”
“I bet they did. Let me guess? That pissed you off, stubborn as you are? Now I really think you should let me in, Beecher.”
Silence; Keller lowered his tone, “The neighbors will talk if I stay here.”
“Fuck the neighbors.”
“Open the door, Beecher. I won’t even mention what happened.”
Beecher opened the door and just turned his back on Keller, walked back inside without a word. He was limping badly. His hair was dirty, he looked extremely tired.
“Christ, Beecher. How many of them did it take to bring you down?”
“I saw at least four of them.”
“What were they after? A beating? Or did they intend to kill you and got interrupted along the line?”
“I don’t fucking know… Didn’t you say you wouldn’t mention it?”
“I lied. Are you going to prosecute them?”
“Of course I will. Glynn said there’ll be an investigation. My ass; I’ll never hear back from him.
OK, paranoia striking in; not very surprising considering Beecher’s situation.
Beecher sat on the couch, rather gingerly and stayed very quiet for a whole minute.
“What do you want, Keller,” he asked.
“Nothing. I just thought I’d make sure you were OK, since I don’t think you’ll call me if you needed anything?”
“I’m OK. You can leave now.”
Keller crouched in front of him, still wearing his jacket and tie, his eyes intent as they roamed all over Toby’s face.
“Where doesn’t it hurt?”
He saw Beecher flinch, and reached out for his cheek, the one that was barely scratched. Keller made his touch light and sweet; Beecher didn’t pull away.
“I’ll go to bed early; tomorrow I’ll feel better,” Beecher said
“Good idea, let’s go.”
Beecher stared at him, then snorted and Keller rose, held out his hand and Beecher took it, looking dazed.
“Come on, let’s go,” Keller said “I’ll tuck you in. You’ll tuck me in. I hope you don’t mind if I sleep naked?”
In the bedroom he helped Beecher out of his clothes, saying nothing in spite of the bruises, the scrapes, and the obvious pain, just smoothing his hands down Beecher’s shoulders and arms.
Maybe Beecher was just too tired to protest. Maybe he craved company; any company; maybe he missed him, Keller thought.
“Hey, it’s not too bad. Could’ve been worse,” he said, smiling and Beecher smiled back, watched Keller strip.
“Nice shoes. Very nice shoes, Keller.”
“Thanks. I have pairs of these. I buy them from an English shoe store on the net. Same pair, different colours, that’s fine. Same for the suits; I’m not very good at buying clothes so once I find something I like I tend to stick to it.”
Beecher wondered if he did the same with people; once Keller liked them did he tend to stick with them? The light went off and arms pulled him against a warm hard body. Later as Beecher was dozing off Keller said, “I’d rip the bastards’ heads off if I’d ever find them. Kill them, a slow agonizing death for doing this to you.”
“Doesn’t sound very ADA-like to me.”
“I stop being ADA at nightfall; after that I turn into Chris Keller, and believe me, he’s one mean jealous motherfucker. But I guess you’re used to that? If I’d been in Oz with you, no one would’ve come near you, touched you and lived. I would’ve strangled the bastards with my bare hands or stabbed them to death and baby, I would’ve loved that.”
Beecher closed his eyes and pressed harder against Keller’s body.
“But you’re not in Oz.”
“No; neither are you.”
“I can’t let go. It’s like letting go of a part of my soul.”
Don’t you think understand? When Michka died I was lost; I would’ve kept going to the hospital just to fill the void. Isn’t it just what you’re doing?
Keller kissed the damp nape of Beecher’s neck and reached for the lotion Beecher kept in a drawer, coated his cock, felt a deep shiver run through them both when he pushed his cock into the warm haven of Beecher’s ass, careful, cautious, his fingers around Beecher’s cock and that at least didn’t seem to hurt too much, considering the soft moans of pleasure echoing in Beecher’s chest and the whispers urging him to go on... Yes, please, yes; because it was so fucking good, so much better than anything he’d known.
He brought the both of them off fast and hard and sighed, heard Beecher’s breathless laugh.
“I like this Chris Keller much more than the other one.”
“No shit? I’m glad then!”
Keller fell asleep breathing in the damp curls on Beecher’s nape with a strong sense of satisfaction.
Gotcha.
By the light of dawn though the situation looked very different.
Bathed in the rays of sun poorly filtered by the blind, Beecher’s lean body looked ragged. His skin wore the obvious marks of abuse; purple black bruises all along his flanks, covering his shoulders and thighs like some initiatory paintings, scraped knuckles testifying that he’d been fighting hard.
No doubt Beecher would be hiding away long enough to lick his wounds before coming out again, renewed and angry.
A wild animal. A bad guy.
Now Keller, you gave up on the bad guys long ago.
Soon enough he’d understood that every guy he fucked pushed him closer to something dangerous, insane, violent; that the sex, as blindingly good as it was, carried too much pain and self-loathing and that one day, any day, all hell would break loose and the career he was aspiring to as well as his life would just stop. So. No more leather bars, no more hot one night stands, mussed hair, dark eyes, lean sweaty bodies he liked so much to bruise, exhausted voices begging for more until he didn’t really know what he was doing to them. They’d not been bad guys really; Keller had this thing for innocent looking college boys, well-educated, well-dressed but shrewd and easy to seduce. Too different. Too easy.
So Beecher…
Was the closest to his private fantasy. Beecher was anything but innocent.
Keep away from him, Keller thought and brushed back a loose strand from Beecher’s face. Except that it seemed unfair after all that he had to deny himself this rare pleasure of having the kind of sex he’d been craving for nearly 15 years. He ran his fingertips along the marks and the welts, spotted some he’d left earlier, kissed them, blew hot air against then and Beecher scooted closer and sighed.
If he spoke, who would he call? Who was he dreaming of?
He ran his hands across the bruised chest until he reached the curve of a hip. Beecher opened his eyes all of a sudden and looked at him; nothing dazed in his gaze. An abrupt change from deep sleep to plain consciousness.
“I thought you’d gone,” he said, quiet under Chris’s fingers.
“You’re good to sleep with.”
“Yeah? I’ve been known for yelling in the middle of the night, though.”
“Not this time. Plus I’m a sucker for silent lovers.”
“Prison taught me that,” Beecher said, gazing at Keller’s pleasure-washed blue eyes, watching for any darkening.
Keller just shrugged.
“Yeah. That and more. Maybe I should put a bunch of flowers on Lennox’s grave after all.”
“You’re not afraid of ghosts.”
“Nah. I got some of my own and they’re scary enough; trust me on that.”
Toby reached out and pulled him in closer, kissed him, losing himself in the sensation. Rubbed the palm of his hand against Keller’s stubbly cheek and shivered –Duane’s skin had been smooth and his short beard silky soft. But just like him, Keller turned his head to kiss Beecher’s palm and inhaled deeply the faint scent of sweat and come on the warm skin –Toby’s heart sank.
“So? It’s morning again? Are you back to ADA mode, ready to lock the bad guys behind bars?”
“Yeah,” Keller said, smiling against Toby’s skin, “and I should be going. I need to change clothes. Do you want me to come back?”
Beecher smiled. “I think so.”
Keller kissed him hard, rubbed his knuckles against Beecher’s cock, felt it throb to life and soften again.
“I’m sorry,” Beecher said, “I’m afraid I’m just too tired.”
“Yeah. You should rest for a day or two. Must hurt like hell.”
“Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t go back to Oz?”
I know better than giving you orders, Beecher; I bet you’d get a real kick out of pissing me off.
“It’s your life; do whatever you have to. Isn’t it what we all do?” Keller said in a very neutral voice.
That earned it a strange look.
“Is it really?” Beecher said.
“Yeah, that’s the only way, Beecher. Are you still working on Desmond’s case?”
“He appealed so as long as he wants me to…”
“Let’s hope someone rids us of him before the new trial’s up, then.”
“You know, Keller, schizophrenia isn’t a synonym for violence.”
“I know,” Keller smiled and recited “Ninety nine percent of them are harmless.” His voice fell and he added “The one other percent’s Desmond. You shouldn’t wear yourself out for him; he’s not worth the effort.”
Beecher snorted and Keller thought he was beginning to like the sound of it way too much.
“I’m only doing my job, Keller.”
“Whatever…”
Keller rose, put on his clothes.
“I’ll be back.”
“You’d better.”
The door slammed shut and Beecher closed his eyes again and went back to sleep.
So, Keller thought, that felt a lot like a reprieve. While the rational part of his mind was beginning to solve the numerous problems raised by this unconventional liaison, the other part was only planning ways to snatch Toby away from Oz and turn the memories of Lennox to something distant and unimportant. Overpower, annihilate and dissolve any attachment Toby had ever known.
*That* would be a very pleasant task.
He put his mind to it, and his body.
****************
It didn’t quite work.
Beecher’s company was… enjoyable; set apart the fights as a constant background to the relationship, and the clashes and the countless times Beecher or himself slammed the door, determined to leave for good this time, lips set in a straight line, shoulders trembling with anger, biting back the words that would kill everything –or not biting them back, for that matter; set apart the long weeks of loneliness spent hating each other and hoping nonetheless the other would make the first move –and that was generally Beecher’s business.
They didn’t live together; that at least was unthinkable. Keller’s career, Beecher’s family and the unspoken feeling that they’d end killing each other ruled out any possibility of a common life. But then, there were the weekends, and many nights when Keller crept into the house, silent, cautious not to wake the kids up and leaving early, and there were holidays spent together. And the sex was so good that it made up for a lot, although not quite enough for the burden of keeping the secret; that was particularly hard for Beecher who wanted nothing more than live his love in the open.
When Sister Pete, that frail bird of a psychologist died, Beecher stopped going to Oz; he’d lost some friends already and that loss was the final straw; he couldn’t stand the place without her. Six months later he took up teaching; students loved him and regardless of his dubious past now half-erased by time, the State University offered him a full-time job; he had to choose between being a lawyer and teaching –something he wouldn’t even have considered doing had it been Keller asking.
They would’ve stopped hiding eventually but nothing went as they’d hoped.
Approached about being the new District Attorney Keller weighed up carefully Beecher’s love and a career he had ambitioned for 40 years and made an impossible choice.
“Christ, how I wish things were different,” he told Toby, his eyes suspiciously shiny, holding him tight.
Toby had expected it; he said nothing. Keller was *brilliant*; he loved his job. He needed that as a revenge on a miserable childhood, a difficult youth and that reward for so many sacrifices.
“Chris, listen;” Beecher said, keeping his voice level and firm “They’re no other choice.” He gave Keller a wet smile, “We can still have dinner together from time to time. You’re still entitled to have friends, I suppose? Even worthless friends who’ve been in prison?”
“You are not worthless…” Keller said, frowning “And dinner will do just fine. You can invite me to your place for a last drink and no one will notice if I drive away a bit late.”
Yeah well, that wasn’t exactly domestic bliss but he’d never expected it anyway.
He was walking Beecher back to his car after a very long night, their shoulders brushing as they went.
“It doesn’t make me happy, Toby,” Keller said, his eyes dark, flooded with panic suddenly –maybe he should change his mind.
“Me neither.”
“In the end, maybe Lennox had the best part. Listen, I understand it might be very frustrating; and that you might want to find someone else,” Keller said in a superhuman attempt at honesty, “live a normal life.”
“Shit might happen,” Toby answered and fuck, what could Chris say? I’ll kill the bastard, he thought and felt better. Even smiled and nodded.
Beecher’s hand rested on the sleeve of Keller’s woollen overcoat that made him look so painfully *good* and he looked deep in those hard blue eyes, let his gaze roam over Keller’s mouth.
“When will you be giving your final answer?”
“Two days from now. Are you sure…”
Beecher’s hand stroked his sleeve and squeezed.
“Go ahead. You’d never forgive yourself if you chose otherwise. What we have… can survive. Differently.”
“I love you Toby. I’m sorry.”
“I love you too. Another time, maybe, in another life, we’ll make it better. For now, let’s enjoy what we’ve got left.”
And something in Beecher’s voice said how little it was and how far from what he’d hoped. Keller’s heart sank.
Their lips brushed lightly and Beecher sat in the car, strapped the safety belt and looked up at Chris, smiling.
“Call me,” he said; but Keller couldn’t answer; he just nodded, his throat tight.
Then he watched as Beecher drove away and walked back home slowly, wondering what they’d be able to salvage.
The end