Title: The Marriage of Tobias Beecher IV

December 12, 2003

Walking in circles around the small glass cell, Toby can feel his back screaming in protest, but he ignores it, as at the moment, boredom is trumping any discomfort he’s feeling. The pain in his shoulder has since transformed itself to an ungodly itching, but all-in-all he feels one hundred percent better than he had a week ago. His eyes stray to the door, where seated just on the other side are Ryan and Seamus O’Reily, father and son, both murderers in the first degree. Unable to stand being cooped up any longer, he steps to the door and flings it open.

“O’Reily, for God’s sake, let me out of here!”

“No-can-do, Beech.” Ryan tilts his chair back and studies Toby with a nonchalant air.

“Look.” Toby puts his hand together as if he were praying and points them at Ryan. “If I go over and sit in front of the TV with you on one side, and. . . .” He glances at Seamus. “Your dad on the other, what could possibly happen?”

“I’d have to endure a ten minute rant from Killer Keller on how I disobeyed him by letting you out of the pod, and I’m telling you, my nerves won’t take it.”

“Ha, ha,” Toby says dryly. He is not amused.

“Relax, Beech, Keller won’t be gone the whole day, just visiting one of his ex-wives.”

“His ex-wife, Bonnie.” Toby sighs in resignation.

“Oh, guess it will be a while then.” Ryan immediately understands that ex-wife Bonnie translates to Keller-visits-as-long-as-the-guards-will-allow.

“Okay, okay, how about this?” Toby is now truly desperate and quickly thinks up a plan that involves money, something that is sure to appeal to O’Reily. “The three of us play poker. We’ll use matchsticks, so the guards won’t be suspicious, but every matchstick will be worth a buck.”

“Nope.” Ryan shakes his head, not tempted by Beecher’s offer. “If we’re playing poker, then. . . .” He points to his dad first and then himself. “Our attention is not on watching over you.”

“For fuck’s sake, O’Reily, I can’t believe you’re taking this so fucking seriously. Since when do you follow orders from Chris Keller to the tee?”

“And I can’t believe you’re taking this so lightly,” Ryan fires back. “After all, we’re talking about your life?”

“Life? I’m in a prison within a prison!”

“Jeez!” Ryan rolls his eyes. “You’re such a first-class whiner. You should be on your knees thanking God, that you’re alive, well, and being cared for. You’ve forgotten fast how it used to be for you here.”

Toby can only shake his head at Ryan, humiliated that he’s been deservedly dressed down by the two-bit hustler. “You’re right, you’re right,” he placates. “But Chris has got me so isolated, that I’m ready to chew my left arm off to have some contact with someone, anyone.”

“Oh, anyone, like the person, who wants you dead, anyone?” Ryan asks with a raise of the eyebrows. “Come on, Beech, use that big brain of yours.”

“Yeah.” Toby shakes his head again, as he steps back into the pod, letting the glass door close behind him. Not so long ago, he had envied the leaders of the different gangs, who had their flunkies surrounding them, protecting them, but now he remembers that nothing comes without a price.

**

“You know, I was thinking.” Toby is once again pacing around the small pod, but this time in excitement. “I should call my mom, feel her out, see if I can detect anything suspect, although in truth, I can’t see my mother doing something as unlawful as hiring someone to murder me.”

“You’d be surprised what people are capable of when they feel threatened,” Chris says, as he throws down the magazine he had been looking at. “Calling your mother is a bad idea. If she’s guilty, you’d tip her off that you’re on to her, and if she’s innocent, you’d upset her.”

“But I’ve got to do something!” Toby begins pacing faster. “Sitting here doing nothing is driving me crazy.”

“Tobe.” One smooth move and Chris is on his feet. “I told you.” He takes a step, so he is chest to chest with Beecher. “I’ll take care of it; you need to just relax.”

“I’ve been relaxing.” Beecher throws his hands up in the air. “So much so, that I’m practically comatose. I need to. . . .”

“Leave everything to me,” Chris interrupts. “Despite your six years in Oz, you haven’t a clue on how to handle this situation, but lucky for you. . . .” He steps even closer to Toby. “I do.”

Keller is just a hair taller than he is, but despite that Toby always feels dwarfed by the other man.

“And just what,” Toby pauses to clear his throat. “Are you doing about finding the person or persons, who wants me dead?”

“I’m checking my contacts.” Chris leans closer. “And I’ve got O’Reily checking his. Between the two of us, we’ll find out something.”

Opening his mouth to ask just what contacts he talking about, Toby’s questions are stifled as lips are pressed against his, and a tongue is quickly inserted in his mouth. The kiss is hard, demanding, and passionate, and in that moment, he forgets his troubles, his doubts, his insecurities. He’s pushed onto the bottom bunk, where his clothes are stripped off of him.

The lights are still on in Em City, but Keller is uncaring; Querns has already assured him that short of murdering someone, the hacks would not bother him. Grabbing Toby’s half-hard penis, he strokes, causing more blood flow and a stifled moan. “Tell me you want me.” His voice is soft and husky.

“Yes!” Toby’s head falls back, as lips brush lightly over the head of his cock. “God yes!” he manages to groan out just before he’s totally engulfed, tip to root in a hot, moist suction.

Keller is an expert lover and knows just how to give the maximum amount of pleasure while keeping the climax at bay. It’s a wonderful torture, a pleasure that Toby has never experienced before Chris.

“Oh God!” he groans out again, as a finger massages his anal ring and then inserts itself. The hand around the base of his cock loosens, causing him to arch his back.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck!” Excruciatingly pleasurable sensations are flowing through him, as he breathes harder, entwining his fingers in Chris’ short hair. His brain is sending him mixed signals, pull up or push down. The finger in him rubs harder, and it’s that movement that sends him over the edge, his orgasm shuddering through his whole body. Hands falling to his sides, chest heaving up and down, he feels lightheaded, dizzy. He feels his legs being lifted and hears the sound of a zipper.

“Toby, my Toby.” It’s a whisper in his ear, as he’s suddenly filled. Chris enters him effortlessly, and the only thought that runs through Beecher’s head is: I promise to love, honor, and obey.

**

December 19, 2003

Toby is once again walking in circles around the small pod; boredom, anger, and confusion roll around in his brain, as he contemplates just what is life has become. Marriage to Christopher Keller has become an even smaller jail cell than the glass pods in Em City. He’s kept hidden away, unable to leave without the watchful eye of Keller. It’s all done in the name of protection, but he is coming to the realization that Chris is delighted by how things have worked out, and revels in the excuse to keep him close, so close that the only other people he’s allowed contact with are the O’Reilys and the occasional guard or two. Stepping over to the door, he swings it open.

“O’Reily.” His voice is already raised.

“Let me guess, Beech,” Ryan speaks before Toby can say anything more. “You’re bored, and you just want to go and watch some TV. I’ve already heard this song and dance routine, and you know what my answer will be.”

Sighing, Toby has a brief, enjoyable fantasy of putting both hands around Ryan’s neck and squeezing tight. Not long ago, he had attempted to leave the pod despite the father and son duo. Ryan had the guards lock him in before he even made over to the TV viewing area. It seemed that Keller had already discussed his situation with Querns, and the two were in total agreement on how he should be safeguarded.

“Okay, fine, but in the hope that my confinement will end one day, just what have you or Chris found out about who or what wants to kill me?” Toby asks, sarcasm evident in his tone.

Ryan shrugs while shaking his head. “Not much.”

“Not much,” Toby scoffs, knowing that O’Reily is dissembling. “Not much means you know something, so what little tidbit of information have you and Chris gleamed from your numerous contacts?”

“Aah-hem.” Ryan fakes a cough or two to stall, as he does some quick thinking. “That Edders was hired by someone from the outside.”

“I’ve already heard that theory from Chris, and you’re telling me that now one of your contacts has actual of proof of that?”

“Maybe.” Ryan quickly recovers his usual aplomb and lies smoothly. “We’re checking it out.”

“Uh huh,” Toby mumbles in disbelief. He’s not a fool; he knows Keller and O’Reily are playing him. “You know what I think?”

Toby’s posture is casual, but Ryan is familiar enough with Beecher to know that there’s an explosion in the works. Body tensing, he sits up straighter.

“I think you’re in cahoots with Keller, and since he has no interest in finding out who’s behind my attack, you and he are making up this whole checking-out-your-contacts bull.”

“Yeah, right.” Ryan casually slumps back into his chair. “Killer Keller is going to pass up an excuse to take revenge on the people, who are out to get. . .you.” He pauses, as he stares Toby in the face. “By the way Beech, have problems with any Aryans lately?”

Toby is stunned, and more than one emotion flickers across his face. After waking up from his coma, he had heard about the package with the mysterious powder, which killed the prisoners working in the mailroom that day, all Aryans, and the two guards there.

“Are you saying. . . ?

“I’m not saying anything, Beech.” Ryan grins; he knows that the tables have turned and he’s now the one with advantage. “But you have to admit that anyone, who’s messed with you, violently or sexually ain’t smelling too pretty anymore.”

Toby shakes his head, as he stares down at the floor. He remembers all too clearly the cryptic conversation he had with Keller the day the two of them took a dive over the second floor railing:

“Oh, here comes Killer now,” Ryan interrupts Toby’s musing. “So why don’t you take your argument up with him because I’m just the flunkey here. Hey, K-man,” he greets Keller, who saunters up to them. “Beech, here is bored again, so you need to find a way to entertain him.”

Ryan’s emphasis on the word entertain has both O’Reilys exchanging smirks, which fuels Toby’s temper again. But fortunately, reason quickly asserts itself, as he realizes that one, with his bad shoulder, he can’t throw much of a punch, and two, besides Keller, the O’Reilys are his only other allies.

“Come on.” Taking Beecher by the arm, Chris pulls him into the their pod; he senses Toby’s bad mood.

Despite his restraint with the O’Reilys, Toby’s still fuming as, he shakes off Keller’s hand. He says nothing though, as he steps to the wall and stares at it.

“You know, Tobe,” Chris says in his most pacifying manner. “I was thinking, perhaps calling your mother is a good idea.”

Keller’s change of heart mollifies Toby, as he looks over at the other man with surprise.

“After much contemplation. . . .” Chris’ grin is all charm, guaranteed to captivate. “And you know that for me to think that hard is a chore, but I just don’t believe that your immediate family had anything to do with hiring Edders to have you murdered. But on the other hand. . . .” He throws himself in their pod chair. “I am wondering about your in-laws. Were they acquainted with Edders?”

“Yes, no.” Toby’s not sure how to answer. Taking a deep breath, he collects his thoughts. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking myself, and I take back what I said before. I don’t believe that my family or Gen’s family could do such a, such a. . . .” He trails off, not sure how to continue.

“But it’s odd that an old college friend of yours ends up here in Oz. And think about it, just who would know that Edders had a connection with you?”

Toby takes another deep breath, brain doing a rapid assessment of all possibilities. He recognizes that Keller is right, but Ryan’s hints about the Aryans keep spinning around in his head. And the last thing he wants on his conscience are more deaths, especially those of his former in-laws.

“I can’t. . .I won’t believe it’s them, so please, stop suspecting them, and look elsewhere for the guilty party!”

“Alright.” Chris rises and stands close to Toby. “And what if I can’t find any other suspects?”

“Then I’ll, I’ll. . . .” Toby closes his eyes. He understands what his choices are. “Stay here close to you.”

The satisfied smile that flashes on Keller’s face is gone in an instant, and Toby, whose eyes are closed, never sees it.

**

December 24, 2003

Christmas Eve finds Toby with the rare opportunity to be in the common room enjoying television and the company of other prisoners. Seated on one side of him is Bob Rebadow, the other Keller, and behind him the O’Reilys. Despite being surrounded, the usual feeling of claustrophobia is absent; Toby has made peace with his life and marriage. Also contributing to his good mood is the recent phone conversation he had with his mother. Full of pleasantries, promises to buy gifts for the children for him, and happy holidays, the call still has him smiling inside. It also convinced that his family had nothing to do with the hiring of Robert Edders.

“Okay, smart man,” Arnold Poet yells to him from a few seats down. “Let’s see you get the next set of questions right.”

Em City occupants are in an unusually civil mood, probably due to the holidays and are having fun watching an episode of Up Your Ante with Beecher showing them all up in the number of right answers.

“I bet anyone dinner’s dessert that he can’t guess all the questions for the rest of the show,” Reggie Rawls throws the proposition out to the group.

Murmurs of agreement and dissent rumble around, as the original bet is upped and altered, although quietly so the guards can’t hear.

Toby is tapped on his shoulder, as Ryan leans forward to ask him quietly. “Just how confident are you? Cause I need to know what side I should bet?”

“Come on, O’Reily.” Chris half turns in his chair to look over his shoulder. “You can’t bet against my boy.”

Ryan opens his mouth to respond, but the sight of the gate opening and two guards escorting four new inmates in Em City stops him from responding. The entrance of the newcomers quiets the entire population of Em City, as all eyes track the four men.

“Fuck!” Chris spits out in total disgust because it’s obvious by their markings the new arrivals are members of the Aryan Brotherhood.

“They’re like fucking cockroaches,” Ryan says loudly. He’s not afraid of being overheard. “Wipe ’em out, and new ones just spring up.”

“They can’t be here.” Chris stands up with a determined air. “I’m gonna have a talk with Querns, tell him to ship their asses over to gen pop.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.” Ryan also stands up. “Quern’s is probably gone and won’t be back until Monday.”

“Then I’ll call him at home. Tobe.” Chris pulls lightly on Beecher’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Toby makes no protest, as he’s led back to his pod. The sight of Aryans has unsettled him, a fact which doesn’t make him happy. He had been standing up to them for six years now, and a show of fear would be a weakness, a weakness he swore he’d never feel again.

Reaching the pod, Chris pulls him close to whisper in his ear. “It’s okay; I’m going to take care of this right now.”

Stepping into his cell, Toby watches him leave, as Ryan and Seamus take up their posts outside his door. Forehead pressed against the glass, he turns his attention to the newcomers, as guards show them to their pods. “Welcome to Oz, gentlemen,” he speaks out loud with no one to hear him but himself. “May your time here be short.”

**

“Fucking Querns!” Chris is still fuming about the Aryans. He and Toby are lying together on the bottom bunk, waiting for lights to go out. “Fucker bitches and moans about keeping you safe, and then moves the enemy right into the neighborhood.”

“You really called him at home on Christmas Eve?” Toby asks, wondering not for the first time what kind of relationship Keller and the warden had.

“Sister Pete did.”

“At your prompting?”

“Yeah, well.” Chris shrugs as he stares up at the springs of the top bunk. “It did no fucking good; the Aryans are here to stay.”

“And just why is that again?” Raising his head, Toby looks down at Keller, a teasing glare in his eyes. “Something to do with the Feds?”

“Um, yeah, and McManus.” Chris is embarrassed. All his ranting and raving got him the phone call to Querns, but after hearing that the Aryans would not be moved, he didn’t bother to listen to the explanation.

“McManus?” Toby prods again, partly in inquisitiveness and partly to needle Keller.

“Uh huh, McManus and his groups.”

“Groups?”

Now irritation is keeping company with Keller’s anger. “Will you stop parroting everything I say.”

“Fine.” Toby lies back down, hands up in surrender. “Sorry.”

Moments pass, while Keller continues to fume, and Toby’s curiosity rises.

“What groups?” he finally asks, unable to stop himself.

“The ten fucking groups that McManus made up: Latinos, Aryans, Homeboys, Wise Guys, Muslims, and, and. . . .” Chris tries to remember the rest.

“Christians, Irish, Bikers, Gays, and Others,” Toby finishes the list. “I remember that list well. He put me in with the Others.”

“Just what the fuck are the Others?”

“Anyone, who doesn’t fit in the other nine groups.” Toby smiles, fondly remembering Augustus Hill’s strong objections to be placed with him, Rebadow, and Busmalis in the Others category.

“Yeah, well something about all groups have to represented in Oz.”

“That was McManus’ rule; it wasn’t any kind of federal law.”

“Fuck, Tobe.” Chris has had enough. “I didn’t understand Querns ramblings, so stop with the lawyerly interrogation. On Monday, we’ll talk to McManus and find out just what the fuck is going on, and why those Aryans fucks have to be here.”

“Fine, fine.” Again Toby puts his hands up in the surrender position. Closing his eyes, he realizes that it isn’t the best time to be conversational; Keller isn’t in the mood. He allows himself drift, and refuses to let the presence of the Aryans ruin the pleasant glow he’s had since he’s spoken with his mother. After all it’s the holidays. Time passes, and just when he’s about to float off in pleasant dreams of his children opening their Christmas gifts, an elbow nudges him.

“So does that means I’m considered an Other?”

**

December 30, 2003

Trapped in his pod until Keller gets back from his session with Sister Pete, Toby is trying to read the latest book he got from the library cart, but it’s old, outdated, and fails to hold his interest. Throwing it down, he tries not to let the discontent creep into his head. He’s made his choices, and he knows he has to live with them.

“Hey, Tobe.” Chris sticks his head in the door. He’s finally returned. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

“Really.” Toby is intrigued. Someone new to talk to, probably a murdering scumbag, but still, a fresh face. “Who?”

“Mike Jefferson.” Chris opens the door, and ushers a young man, who’s covered in tattoos. Toby stands up, Jefferson has Caucasian features but a mulatto skin tone.

“Tobias Beecher,” Chris finishes the introductions. “Mike is a tattoo artist, first-class, does some wonderful work.”

“Uh huh,” Toby grunts out, still wondering why Keller is introducing him to Jefferson. He hesitates as Mike holds out a hand.

“Drop your pants,” Chris orders. “I want Mike to see that Nazi bullshit that Schillinger burnt on your ass.”

“Fuck you!” Toby is outraged. Leave it to Keller to have him show his butt to every Tom, Dick, and Harry tattoo artist. “I’m not showing him my. . . .”

“He needs to look at it,” Chris interrupts, voice stern. “So he can figure out how to fix it.”

“Haven’t we talked about this before? It. Can’t. Be. Fixed,” Toby enunciates slowly and clearly. A moment passes as Keller shifts position, and his position tells Toby more than any words will, I plan to stand here until you do as I say. Sighing with resignation, he turns, while loosing his pants, wishing he was back reading his boring book instead of showing his ass to a total stranger.

“Hmm.” Jefferson studies the swastika for a few long moments before running a finger across it gently. “Burnt in the flesh, can’t be removed.”

Body flinching slightly from a stranger’s touch, Toby rolls his eyes. “You brought him here, so he could tell us that? It’s something we’ve known for. . . .”

“But can you change it?” Chris speaks, cutting Toby off. “Make it into anything other than that fucking thing?” he waves a hand in the direction of Toby’s ass.

“Sure.” Jefferson nods his head. “Could be painful though, have to burn more skin to do it.”

“Draw a few samples of what you can do. If I like any of them, I’ll pay you half, and the other half when the job’s done.” Chris palms Wagner a twenty dollar bill, and then gestures toward the door.

“Excuse me!” Toby is zipping himself up, clearly angry. “Since it’s my ass, don’t I have a say so in anything?”

Chris gives Toby a surprised look. “You hate the thing as much as I do.”

“Yes, but we’ve been down this road before. I’m not going to subject myself to having someone burn my butt again.”

“Got it covered.” Chris’ attitude is casual, as he steps toward the pod’s door. He raps on it once, and then motions for Ryan to enter. “O’Reily came up with the solution. Hey,” he greets the Irishman, who is now standing in the opened cell door. “Tell Toby here what you came up with as far as altering his tattoo.”

“A local injected in your ass will numb up your butt, so you won’t feel much while it’s being done, and then silvadene for afterwards. Heal it up so fast, you’ll hardly be uncomfortable at all.”

“Right,” Toby says skeptically. “And I should just trust your word, doctor O’Reily?”

“Hey.” Ryan feigns being offended. “I got this information from Dr. Nathan herself.”

“And you’re going to get the local and silvadene from her too?”

“Yep.” Chris answers instead of Ryan, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Got the okay from Querns, and he cleared it with the doc.”

“You, you, I. . . .” Toby stutters and stammers; he’s so angry he incoherent. “You decided! You! It’s my fucking ass, and you just decided. . . .”

“You hate having that fucking thing branded on your ass as much as I do.” Chris’ voice is now raised. “So I arranged for you to have it changed under a doctor’s supervision. You should be thanking me!”

“Thanking you!” Now Toby is so angry that he itches to throw a punch at Keller. “It’s my fucking body, and you just think that you can make decisions about it. Well, fuck you!” Turning away, he would like to storm out of the pod, but he knows that would be pointless. Even before his spinal injury, he wasn’t a match for the threesome of Keller, Ryan, and Seamus.

“Fuck me!” Now Chris’ anger matches Toby’s. “I do you this favor, and this is the thanks I get. Think it’s easy trying to talk my way around Querns? And another thing, I’m the one, who has to look at the fucking thing everyday, and I’m sick of it, Schillinger‘s fucking mark.”

“Your’re. . . ? Anger explodes through Toby, as his face flushes and the vein in his forehead throbs. “Son-of-a-bitch!”

All rational thought is gone, as he swings a fist at Keller. Unfortunately, his fist only connects with air, as Chris easily dodges the attempted blow. Grabbing Toby in a bear hug, he wrestles him to the ground.

“Tobe. Tobe,” he pacifies, as he pins the lighter man to the floor. “Calm down. You’re only going to hurt yourself.”

“Motherfucker! Bastard!” Toby’s curses are muffled, as he’s held to the floor.

“Toby.” Shifting around, Chris lies lengthwise on top of Beecher. “I’m not going to let you up, until you stop thrashing around. You know it’s only going to hurt your back, and you’ll be in pain for days.”

Toby’s only answer is grunts and groans for a few seconds, as he continues to struggle.

“Toby.” Chris’ voice is now a whisper. “Toby, if you don’t want to change the swastika, then we’ll just fucking leave it alone. But I really thought you’d be pleased with what I arranged.”

Another moment passes until it finally sinks in that Keller has apologized. He stops his struggles and lies quietly, feeling the heavy weight of Chris on top of him.

“I don’t like that fucking thing,” he finally admits.

“Then let’s change it.” All anger is gone, as Chris slowly gets up, allowing Toby to move.

Sitting up, Toby rubs his shoulder with an embarrassed grin. He sees Ryan, who had snuck out when the fight started, and Seamus sitting outside their door, watching them. “Fuckers are probably betting on who was going to win,” he mumbles.

Chris turns to look over at the two men and then grins. “Like father, like son, neither one of them could pass up a bet, if their life depended on it.” Standing up, he bends down to offer Toby a hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Toby wisely gives Keller his left hand; he doesn’t want to strain his recently injured right shoulder. Chris pulls him up effortlessly, and wraps an arm around him.

“Whatever I do, it’s always for you.”

“I know.” Toby shakes his head, enjoying the feeling of being held. Keller can piss him off royally, but in the end it changes nothing. “I get angry over your high-handed ways.”

“Yeah, I can be a controlling bastard. My ex-wife complained about that.”

“Which one?” Toby asks.

“Hmm.” Chris looks up at the ceiling, pretending to ponder hard. “I think. . .all three of them.”

“Well, it’s unanimous, all four of us agree, you’re a controlling fuck.”

“You agree with them?” Both arms are resting on Toby’s shoulder, as Keller draws him closer. “A day I’ll always remember, my three exes and my current spouse are all in agreement.”

Toby feels Chris’ hot breath on his lips, but before contact is made, he whispers out, “make the arrangements. I’ll have the swastika altered.”

**

January 5, 2004

Lying on his stomach on the bottom bunk, Toby is in a pleasant haze, courtesy of some valium Dr. Nathan had given him earlier. He could feeling tingling in his right buttock, but no hideous pain.

“Hey Toby, how ya doing?” A hand brushes through his hair.

“ S’right,” he slurs out, enjoying the feel of Keller’s touch.

“Pain?”

“Naw, just enjoying the drugs Dr. Nathan pumped into me.” Reaching out a hand, Toby feels around for Keller and finds a forearm.

“I love you, Toby.” Chris leans in closer. “And I’m going to thank you for what you did today.”

“Thank me?” Racy thoughts immediately pop into Toby’s head. “A super duper blowjob?” he asks with a drugged up grin.

“Jeez, Dr. Nathan really did slip you a happy pill.” Beecher’s proposition immediately begins the blood flow to Keller’s groin. Unfortunately, he knows that Toby is in no condition for any sexual play.

“Yeah.” Toby smiles blissfully. “S-she should take one herself, n-not in a very good mood. Kept saying that she didn’t go through all those years of med school to do tattoos.”

“Yeah, well Dr. Nathan might feel differently if her rapist had burnt a tattoo on her ass,” Chris says with cynicism. “But anyway, as soon as your feeling better babe, I’ve got thank-you gift that you’re going to love, and,” he pauses as a mental moment of sexual images of the two of them flashes before his eyes. “A super duper blowjob to boot.”

**

January 8, 2004

“Chris,” Toby protests as he follows Keller down the corridor. He walks slower than usual due to not only a bad back, but a sore right buttock. “If you think that having me tag along while you visit one of your ex-wives is a thank-you gift for having my tattoo altered, you can think again. I’d rather have the blow-job.”

“Really?” Chris stops abruptly and turns. Leaning in, he lowers his voice to a whisper. “That comes later.”

“Promises, promises,” Toby gripes as they continue toward the visiting room. “Did you have your wife buy a gift for me? Is that why it’s so damned important that I. . . .”

“Tobe,” Chris cuts him off. “First of all it’s Kitty, who’s my ex-wife, and second of all, aren’t you the one always bitching about how you’re stuck in that pod 24/7? You’re getting out and meeting someone new.”

“I certainly don’t mind meeting Kitty, but I really don’t want to stay for the entire visit. Perhaps a guard can escort me back?”

“Out of the question,” Chris says abruptly, his tone indicating that there was no room for an argument.

“Of course.” Toby sighs. He hadn’t expected Keller to agree, but it had been worth a try.

Shuffling his feet, Toby continues to grumble to himself. He anticipates that most of the visit will be him watching Keller make out with his ex-wife, Kitty or the hot blond as O’Reily refers to her. It’s not something he’s looking forward to. Turning the corner, they reach the visiting room, and his eyes immediately focus on the blond head of Kitty. Stepping into the room, he lets out a gasp, as his brother, Angus comes into view.

“My God!” he exclaims before he throws his arms around his kid brother. “I never. . .I didn’t. . . .” He’s so excited that for a moment he is unable to form a complete sentence.

“Hey, Toby.” Angus is all smiles, as he hugs Toby back.

Squeezing Angus tight, Toby closes his eyes and remembers all the fights, fun, and enjoyment he had with his younger brother, growing up together. A tap on his shoulder brings his back to the present.

“I told you that I would thank you properly,” Chris mutters in his ear.

“And how?” Toby lets go of Angus, as he looks first at Keller and then his brother.

“He called me.” Angus gestures toward Keller. “Told me if I came, that I would have a guard with me at all times.”

“Yeah, and I made sure that I would be here too, so no one is going to shank your baby brother again.” Chris gives them a wink before turning his attention to Kitty. They lunge at each like people starved for oxygen, as they begin kissing passionately.

Stepping to a table, Toby and his brother sit down with Angus watching Keller and Kitty with fascination. “That’s Chris, right?” he asks. “And he’s your lover because it sure looks like. . . .”

“That’s Kitty, one of his ex-wives. There are three of them, and yes, he’s always this demonstrative with them.”

“I see.” Actually Angus doesn’t see at all, but he knows that it’s not any of his business. “Anyway, I brought you some gifts from mom and me, and of course. . . .” He pulls out two homemade cards from a brown paper bag. “Christmas cards from Holly and Harry. I know Christmas has passed, but we figured better late than never.”

Toby stares at the cards with the childish crayon drawings, the unevenly sprinkled glitter, and the sprawling handwriting that reads, Mery Cristmas, daddy. His eyes fill with tears, and for a moment he is at peace with the world.

**

“Happy?” Chris asks, as he kneels down by the side of the bottom bunk, where Toby is lying on his stomach, still staring at his belated Christmas cards.

Nodding his head, Toby is grateful, so grateful, although he realizes that living with Christopher Keller will be lows and highs, but rarely a middle ground.

“Now.” Chris pulls him close. “How about I finish my thank you, and give you that blowjob you’ve been asking for?”

“I’ve got a better idea.” Toby sets aside his children’s cards and turns to Keller. “How about I give you that super duper blowjob?”

“Ready, willing, and able.” Chris grins, as he unzips his pants and starts to scramble onto the bunk, but is stopped by Toby.

“Just stay where you are,” Toby orders, as he falls out of the bunk to his knees on the floor. He kneels before Chris, while pulling out his penis. It’s already stiff, precum flowing, proof of his excitement. He tongues the head, feeling Chris tremble. There have been countless blowjobs, but none of them on his knees. Hands entwine in his hair and then pull at his head.

“Come on, baby, take it all.”

The words are an encouraging whisper, as Toby draws Keller’s cock in his mouth and begins to suck hard. He hears a muttered ‘oh fuck’ and then feels Chris rock his hips, thrusting more of his cock in Toby’s mouth. It slides all the way in, touching the back of his throat, triggering his gag reflex. He swallows once, twice; experience has taught him that swallowing will suppress the gagging.

“Jesus. Fucking. Christ,” Keller draws out slowly, eyes closed, as he pumps in and out of the warm wetness that he swears to himself will be the death of him. Body tensing, he knows it’s time, so he pushes in even more of himself. His cock twitches and begins spewing come in Toby’s throat, mouth, lips, and face. “Goddamn!” he mutters, as his body sags, his legs barely holding him up.

“Well?” Toby wipes his mouth and face with the back of his hand. “Did I make good on my promise?”

Chris answers by kissing him hard and then whispers in his ear, “Your mouth was made for my dick, my dick only.”

**

January 12, 2004

“Extended holiday?” Chris greets Querns, as he saunters into the warden’s office. “Because I’ve been waiting for you to get back since the new year.”

“Missed me?” Querns looks up from some papers he had been studying. “Because I didn’t miss you at all Keller. In fact after our Christmas Eve phone conversation, I’ve had enough of you to last me a lifetime.”

Chris’ smile is cobralike, as he flops into a chair across from Querns’ desk. “You keep on me about Beecher’s safety, but then you throw Aryans into Em City. I had to talk to you.”

“The Aryans are there to stay; didn’t McManus explain the situation to you?”

“Yeah, I heard the bullshit, federal money equals racial equality in Emerald City.”

“Not racial equality,” Querns corrects him. “The feds decided they liked the idea of McManus’ group theory, that they mandated that all groups need to be represented in Cell Block 5; therefore, guaranteeing there’s no favoritism.”

“Like you did when you ran Em City?” Chris asks, heaving a leg over the arm of the chair.

Querns ignores Keller’s question, as he continues, “If you’re that concerned, I can have both you and Beecher transferred to Unit J.”

“Fuck that.” Chris sits and tugs his ear. “I don’t fucking trust the C.O. s here. I’m sure some of them have been paid off.”

“By whom?” Querns asks. “Any ideas?”

“I’m thinking Beecher’s former in-laws. They’re wealthy, connected, and not only have a grudge against Toby, but could stand to lose custody of the grandchildren.”

“Any proof?”

“If I had proof, I would have already contacted the police, D.A.’s office, and just for the fun of it, the FBI.” Chris stands up and begins to pace around the room.

“If you’re afraid of my officers, what makes Em City safer than Unit J?”

“Because Em City is overseen by McManus. The man is a limp dick sometimes, but he’s basically honorable, and I do have a few allies there.”

“The O’Reilys.” It’s a statement, not a question, as Querns shows Keller is not totally unaware of what goes on. “So basically we have four Aryans against you, Beecher, the O’Reilys, and a couple of their gang.. Numbers are in your favor, but even if they weren’t, I would put my money on you.” Querns stares Keller in the face. “Killer Keller.”

“Really? Because you do realize that you’re betting millions of dollars on us. The Beecher lawsuit, remember?”

“Right.” Querns ponders for a moment. “Perhaps you need to make a few more allies.”

“To combine forces with anyone else, would mean I’d probably have to get involved with the tit trade, and. . . .”

“That’s a problem?” Querns interrupts. “Because I don’t see it as one. Just don’t get involved in any killings, and you have my assurances that no one will bother you.”

****

TBC

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