play with fire


Toby hears the footsteps behind him, doesn’t even turn back ; why would he, they’re all the same to him. He’s not even sure *who* the guy is.

Fuck yes, who is it, today? Oh yeah, that Italian guy, Pancamo’s bodyguard, the one he flirted with two days ago.

“Nice shirt!”

A snort and the priceless look on the guy’s face; hooked, just like the others. It’s not that Toby’s that hot, he doesn’t entertain such thoughts. It’s just that he’s willing; easy safe sex isn’t so easy to get here.


The voice behind him startles him, paralyses him; he turns on his heels, growling. What the fuck…

“Hey, Beecher, looks like your date missed his turn; I thought I’d take his place; wouldn’t want ya to get all lonely and sad, uh?”

Keller, all bulging muscles, wicked smile and mocking shameless smile…

Toby steps back, ready for the fight but Keller steps forward until Toby’s pressed against the wall and Keller’s so near, too fucking near for Beecher’s sake. He has to turn his head to avoid his mouth, hears the soothing voice, mocking voice against his ear.

“Come on, Beecher, I’m sure you’re thinking about me all the time when you’re fucking those guys… Isn’t it true?”

“Fuck off, you bastard…”

Chris laughs, just the usual lowrumble, intimate as hell and his hands are on the wall on each side of Toby’s head.

“Make me, Beecher!”

And then Toby’s lost; Chris is grinding against him, hard cock against hard cock, warm lips roaming over Toby’s skin, rough cheek against his jaw and Chris’ right hand slides down to Beecher’s pants, yanks them open and down.

“Going commando, Beecher? That’s a new one.”

But where Toby expected rough caresses, hateful punishing words –the things he needs to feel better to pay his inexpiable mistake but Chris’ hand on his dick is firm and warm and soft… Suddenly he’s turned, forced to face the wall and pushed down to the floor, falling down on his knees with a thump, Chris falling with him, spooned around him.

“Fucking let me go, you motherfucker!”

A strong hand on his neck and Toby’s on his knees and elbows, the cold acrid smell of concrete in his nostrils; he hears something hit the floor –the cap of a bottle, maybe; and just…

“Oh, fuck!”
“Yeah, Beecher, that’s about it.”

No preparation; Chris’ slick warm cock pushing inside him; the pressure, the burn and then it’s like being carried up an endless stairway, each thrust pushing him higher, step after step after step…

“Faithless cunt,” Chris says in a breath, pushing harder, deeper, picking up a slow rhythm; thrusting in and out like a powerful wave and fuck, it’s not what Chris wanted, he wanted to give it to Beecher hard and painful and merciless and maybe beat him senseless after that, just like he did with the other fags but… Fucking face it, Keller, maybe you’re not even the one in charge here.

And after all rough is what Toby wants, the only way he can deal with it; so what’s better than to deny him that, force him to feel something again, something different, something *good*.

Growling with desire Chris pulls out, seizes Toby’s waist, flips him over and enters him again; not letting him enough time to react; nothing more than a puzzled whimper, a groan, a short struggle, Chris buried deep inside him.

Face to face; how do you deal with that, fucking bitch?

“Open your eyes, Beecher; look at me.”

And Toby does, sinks in the depths of Chris eyes, so blue, so hard; and probably Chris does the same because suddenly his lips are trembling and he doesn’t look so sure of what he’s doing here.

Toby’s hands, tentative bonds resting on Chris’ shoulders… letmeletmeletmeplease and Chris lets him, lets the strong fingers grab the nape of his neck while Toby arches his back to take him deeper, giving up the attitude, wanting what he’s offered so much he can’t keep fighting anymore and the constant ‘nononono’ he's been letting out turns into some wordless moan; he’s pulling Chris to him until they’re breathing in each other’s warmth, sweat, desire; building up memories they’ll use later alone in their pod when the truce is over.

For a while they manage to take sanctuary in a private wordless mindless cocoon where only their bodies run the show; until the moment they’ve been dreading and begging for; until pleasure rises from the depths of their groin, runs up and down their spine like a blazing fire; forcing them to smother the noises of desperate pleasure against the other’s skin –and coming.

Toby has thrown his head back to catch his breath, his body shaking under Chris’ body, between Chris’ hands and they stay like that, their breathing harsh until reality strikes and then it’s over; the world is dark again, cold again, lonely again.

“Next time Beecher…” Chris says, not knowing too much what he means.

“Fuck you!”

Yeah; let’s pretend. I know where we’ve been, Toby. Sure we’ll have some sweet dreams tonight. He’s almost laughing as he walks back from the hidden corridor, leaving Toby behind.

Yeah, next time. He wonders why his eyes are burning so before entering the common room he rubs his palms against his face, hating the wetness there.

And all that time Toby’s been lying there shaking; it takes him a long time to dress up with shaking hands and stumble back to Oz, looking like shit.

the end.

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