Chris Keller woke up from a restless doze at the sound of the count alarm. Grabbing a shirt, he waited for the hiss that signalled the opening of the lock and then slouched out the door, groggy, ignoring the braindead fuck that was his new podmate.
Cranky. Pissed off. Hungry, but not for the shit he knew he was gonna get for breakfast.
He looked across the quad, saw Beecher and Andrew-fucking-Schillinger standing and murmuring to each other. Fuck. He switched to another area, settling on the O'Reilys
Fucking Ryan O'Reily kept looking at him vaguely suspiciously, like he couldn't quite figure out what role Chris had to play in Operation Andy. O-fucking-Reily who seemed to know everything in the fucking prison. Fucker obviously knew all about exactly why Chris had spent time in protective custody, not just the common knowledge of him ratting Vern out. Fucker KNEW Chris's part in bustin up his sometimes-almost-maybe friend Beecher. And fuck it all if that wasn't what he *didn't* need right fucking now. That pale mick bastard was one not to fuck with, from the stories. Didn't need O'Reily on his ass, him an' his dumb-shit but heavy fisted brother, no way.
And shit, Cyril O'Reily. Maybe Vern's ass-fucking of the half-wit would end up being paid for by Chris too. Shit. Maybe O'Reily had some kind of plan, taking out Vern's ranks bit by bit. What better way to send a message than takin out one Chris Keller, party to and participant in the breaking of all the limbs of former drug-buddy Tobias Beecher? Not part o' Vern's ranks no. But that would SURE as fuck send a message to Vern, clear and fucking loud as all hell.
His fault though. Chris's own fucking fault, right there.
Maybe on the hit list of one cunning and devious skinny mick, great. And for what? For paying off a debt to Vern-white-as-the-driven-snow (and what the FUCK did that expression mean, anyway?) Schillinger, who was now just one more guy on his ass.
Course - that was his fault too. Should have known better than to rat out on Vern, especially for some former prag-gone-mental, now playing too hard to get. Fuck, Chris knew his days were numbered in Vern's head. As far up as Vern could count anyway.
So, double digits probably.
And yeah, he KNEW he should have just stayed where he was, keeping all chummy with Vern, doing whatever - yeah *what*ever - he had to do to stay hooked up, back watched. But, fuck no, instead he'd screwed up again, letting some kind of misguided feelings of - WHAT exactly? - guilt and almost even affection and some kind of twisted spiralling crazy desire for one fucked up ex-lawyer ex-prag, get in the way.
So - FUCK Vern.
Yeah, fuck Vern. And then - get fucked over by Beecher. And if that wasn't one fuckin huge piss-off, he didn't know what was. Thought of it made those still not entirely healed wounds in his back throb a little.
He'd been so *sure* Beech could be turned back around. Yeah, wouldn't be easy. And yeah, that was part of the challenge. Gettin Beech all hot for him again, after all that shit - who *wouldn't* call that sweet, huh? Would just be one huge ego rush, a reminder of how fuckin GOOD he was at all that shit. That he was good at something anyhow.
But no. No, instead, getting stabbed in the back, *probably* - but hopefully NOT - by Beecher, and then getting booted out in favour of 'poor lost' Andy. And he HATED that part of the plan. Gave Beecher WAY too much freedom and time away from him. Not good.
Idly, he thought about the highs of gettin Beecher where he wanted him, where he needed him to be before that fuckin gym time. Gettin Beech to the point where he told him he loved him - oh baby. Fuckin amazing rush right there.
He needed to feel that rush again. The feeling that he could get someone so totally wrapped up in him, at least for a few minutes.
And Beecher - was just out of the question right now. A longer-term plan, ok - gotta have *something* to entertain himself with in this shithole. Not good for the short term fix though. For that immediate need for a quick high, instant and then discardable source of gratification.
On the outside it meant for a quick pick up at some bar - trashy or high class, didn't matter - and a good anonymous, no strings, fuck. Couldn't do that here though, no fuckin way. No anonymity to be found.
Hmmm. But no strings. Maybe. With the right guy, maybe. And with the right plan.
Only question was - who? No way he was gonna waste his time on some Aryan fuck, too damn easy. Those shits would fuck anything anytime and then slit his throat when he wasn't lookin. Nope. O'Reily rated a no-fucking-way, and too bad really, skinny fucker wasn't hard to look at, and his oh-so-hetboy ways would only have sweetened the whole deal.
He casually surveyed the room, eyes searching out some kind of likely prospect. Didn't wanna check out the gen pop fuckers, too much inconvenience. Gotta be someone in Em City....he did NOT wanna mess with Adebisi. Not that suicidal. Yet, anyway. He sneered at the thought of Wangler, still a fucking *kid* no matter how hard he fronted. Nope. He caught a slinky movement and shifted slightly, eyes lighting on the slightly cowed figure of Alvarez on the outskirts of the Latino huddle. His eyes kept on moving, searching. Busmalis. Rebadow. NonoNOPE. Bikers -- pass. Pancamo was a fucking wall, and not Chris's type anyway. And he didn't need the Italians on his ass too.
Oh, but wait. He shifted back slightly. Alvarez. Whipping boy to Raoul-I'm-so-bad-an'-fuckin-ugly-enough-to-prove-it-Hernandez.
His skin started to tingle. Now *that* was a challenge right there. He almost laughed, but managed to smother it. He narrowed his eyes and stared at Alvarez for a moment. Ok. Not bad. Not bad at all.
The hacks ended count, but Chris stayed put for a few moments, still watching Alvarez. Guy looked up, saw Chris looking in his direction. Chris let him see, then casually moved away from the wall and sauntered away. He needed a plan. And any good plan needed some basic information.
Miguel Alvarez waited listlessly as Cid muttered to Guerra, dumbass shit-for-brains who would end up gettin all the fuckin instructions wrong anyway. And then who'd get blamed for that?
He looked around, trying to keep still, trying not attract attention, and played around with ideas about gettin Cid outta the way. Fuckin fuck.
Keller. Keller was lookin at him. Fuckin Keller the rat. What the fuck? Then the guy shifted and sauntered away, a slight twitch to his hips that was maybe about more than just fuckin walkin.
Shit, guy was on DISPLAY.
He smirked a little, felt a familiar roil of superiority surfacing fast. Fuckin Keller, too shit-ass easy to read. Yeah. Lookin for a little somethin now he'd been ditched by that fuckin crazy nut Beecher.
He almost pitied the poor fucker Keller had his eye on now.
* * *
Keller found what he was looking for, and that done, he walked to the gym full of anticipation. Alvarez, once the head of the Latino faction, quickly ousted and fucked over by Hernandez. Alvarez, who, by all accounts, had been slick, smooth and *very* tied up in appearances. Proud an' arrogant.
Now, cowed. Totally.
Yeah. *RIGHT*. Didn't take much skill to see the shit simmering under that exterior. Mmmhmm. Perfect opening.
The gym was almost deserted, just a couple of fucks basically shootin the shit. He moved over, picked up some weights and, grinning, started his routine. Mmmhmm. Yeah, he knew what it would get to make Alvarez more than cooperative. Would be easy, definitely easier than cracking that shell that had been around Beecher. Still, it had to be skilfully played. Still gonna be a challenge.
Miguel stalked down the hall, fuming from another brush off and sneer from Cid. Fuckin *shit*, nothin was ever good enough. Too white, too white Miguelito. An' fuckin Guerra and that shit Ricardo, they'd been pushin him WAY too far too.
Fuck Cid. An' fuck *that*.
And what kinda weak-assed shit *was* he anyway, for lettin those cocksuckers push him 'round, get all high an' mighty over nothin? What kinda pussy was he for gettin his ass handed to him in the boxing ring by some shit-talkin fag?
Fuck. Gotta take some kinda stand, and gotta take it soon.
He got to the gym, walked through the door, head turned to the side. He didn't see the other figure coming out until too late. Guy brushed past him, pushing him to one side. Pissed, he turned, snarling. Found himself lookin up at Keller's mild face.
"Hey Alvarez, relax. Nothin intended."
Whatever. He rolled his eyes but backed off. Wasn't worth it, didn't need to pick any fights with fuckin strangers right now. Had to channel that anger. Focus.
Keller was still lookin at him.
Narrow-eyed stared, slight smirk. Fucker. "You thinkin a startin somethin Alvarez?"
Huh? Starting what exactly?
He sneered. "Ain't worth my time, rat-motherfucker." He turned away, back on course. Sauntered on, slow enough to catch the smooth, low reply.
"Could be worth mine."
What the *fuck*? What kinda shit double talk was that? He turned back around, pissed again, wary.
Gone. Fuckin rat was gone.
He moved back towards the weights, momentarily off-balance. What the fuck? And then -- oh shit. Keller. On display a'ight. For *him*. Had to be for him.
JUST what he needed, fuck. Some fucked up predatory almost-Aryan rat-bastard ex-prag cast-off on his heels.
Then *again* -- Keller was no fuckin pussy neither. Guy was fuckin built. Fast. Smart. Burned those Aryan bridges, ditched by Beecher. Maybe lookin for new alliances. Wouldn't hurt to have a guy like *that* around to take out Cid. If he wanted to take out Cid.
So, Keller maybe had some kinda eye on him. He could play *that* to his advantage, yeah. Easy.
Absently rubbing his stomach, smirking slightly, he started to plot.
* * *
Things started to fall into place. Alvarez was absurdly easy - almost - but not quite enough to make him lose interest. Chris let his eyes linger just a *little* too long on Alvarez as he slid his gaze around rooms - quad, kitchen, gym. Passed tiny grins when Alvarez was gettin bitched out by Hernandez. Sent out those vibes, that little bit of bait - hey buddy, I been there. Gettin the shit from some fuckwad. Fuckers always mis-fuckin-*cal*culate, right? Riiiiiiight. I know it, guy.
I can *be* there for you. All you gotta do is - *ask*.
And Alvarez was biting, he was sure.
Other thing was - more he watched the guy, more Alvarez made him grin that nasty little grin. Guy didn't pack that crazy punch of desire Beecher carried around, no. Wasn't no eyesore either though. Slinky movements, just that little bit of leftover preening now and then. Almost subconscious. Nice. He coulda picked worse.
It was time to draw this deal to a close.
Miguel smirked. He could almost fuckin *touch* the vibes from Keller. Cat in fuckin heat, right there. Cat that wanted Miguel, was always checkin out how he moved, watchin his ass. And it felt *good* havin someone watch him like that again, even if it was some shit he couldn't trust. But fuck, what WAS trust anyway, huh? An' Keller was just so EASY to read. Wouldn't take much to control the guy. Give him what he wanted, yeah, and keep givin - an' it's a deal.
An' really - probably NOT a completely shitty deal. He'd done worse things in this shithole.
He listened to Cid rant about somethin - O'Reily an' tits or someshitthing - with half an ear. Keller was standing, sauntering out. Guy didn't make eye contact. No one else would think twice. Miguel waited until Cid shut up and waved them away. He slid out of his seat, followed Keller's path.
Wasn't hard to find him. Not too many places to look really. He ducked into the library, feigning interest in the books around him, not catching Keller's eye right away. No one else around except some hack. Ok. He turned, glanced at Keller, smirked slightly, and walked out. Heard the scrape of a chair behind him, light slap of cheap shoes on concrete floor. Smirked some more, knowing this time Keller couldn't see.
Walking slowly now, still hearing Keller behind him, he rounded a corner and quickly jacked the lock of a storage room. Slipped inside and turned, arms crossed, to face his 'stalker' with a calculated sneer.
"You followin me?"
"If I am?"
He sighed, smirked. "Seen you watchin. Got somethin you want?"
Keller moved closer, grinning. "Mmmhm. Maybe Alvarez."
Miguel saw it, saw the way Keller liked to play it. Guy wanted to be in control, make him jelly, panting for more. Oh yeah, too easy. He let his eyelids lower slightly, licked his lips. "What?"
Chris grinned harder, sly. Alvarez was so easy. Trying to build up alliances, in some half-assed plan to get Cid off his back. He thought he was playin Chris. Hmm. Well, whatever worked to get him this moment. He licked his lips, mirroring the movement of Alvarez's own tongue and leaned closer. Let his hand reach out, draw a soft trail across Alvarez's shoulder and down his arm. Grinned at the resulting shiver. Softly, "Nice arms."
"Yeah?" Alvarez stood straighter, unconsciously flexing biceps. Looking at him, hoping for more praise, more confirmation from Chris. Perfect.
"Yeah. I like what I see."
"And..." He leaned closer, grabbing Alvarez's head, pulling them together. He stopped any potential protests with an almost-brutal kiss, teeth nipping *hard*.
For a moment, Miguel's mind went blank. Then - shit. Didn't expect this, fuckin Keller's tongue in his mouth, hands on his ass so fuckin *fast*. He struggled to remember why he was here. Yeah. Ok. Needed to play the right part.
He let his body relax, and pushed against Keller, hips grinding. He tried to set the right tone - I ain't no *fag* man -- oh, but - *oh* oooh, yeah guy, you are just *so* hot, so *good* I can't stop myself. Make me feel good. *Now*.
Musta worked, cause then Keller's hands were workin between them, fumbling with buttons and zipper, strippin him down. Then Keller backed off, hands hooked on his own belt loops. Miguel tried to catch his breath, momentarily confused.
Keller looked at him, sultry, clearly appreciating the view, but silent. Miguel almost laughed. Guy wanted him to beg, right? *That's* how he got his rush.
"You want this Alvarez?"
He grinned, licked his lips again, looked away a little. Silent.
"We don't gotta do this."
Miguel reached forward, and pulled Keller back towards him. Bit down hard on Keller's shoulder and let his hands tremble a little as they unfastened the other man's heavy jeans and pushed them down.
Chris smirked into Alvarez's shoulder as uncertain but insistent hands worked on his pants. After a few moments he caught those hands up in his own and pushed Alvarez up against the wall. He let one hand snake up inside Alvarez's shirt, tracing tiny circles, roughly pinching a nipple. Alvarez closed his eyes and sucked in his breath, fast, as Chris quickly ducked his head, pushed up the shirt and fastened his mouth *tight* to the sensitive flesh. Alvarez squirmed and Chris trailed his free hand down, slowly, eventually stopping to grip the other man's half-hard cock.
Jerk. Hiss. Thrust.
Stroking slowly, softly, he looked at the face in front of him. "You want this?"
Gripping a little tighter, he grinned. "You *like* this."
"Fuuuck. Yes. Ok? Yeah."
Perfect. "Mmmm. Me too baby."
Alvarez's eyes flew open. Chris leered at him, raking his eyes over the smaller man's body, letting Alvarez see what he wanted - approval and desire.
Keller's hand on his cock, the lust in his eyes nearly made Miguel laugh in triumph. Too fuckin perfect man. Keller kept stroking him, making his hips rock. He reached out and pulled Keller's shirt off, followed with his own. Keeping his movements tentative, almost uncertain, shy, he trailed his hands down Keller's back, and eventually pulled them close, trapping Keller's hand between them.
Keller grunted, worked his hand free and zoomed back in for another kiss. Hands on Miguel's hips, he guided their movements. An' fuck yeah, this was fucked up, lettin some crazy guy *do* this to him. But shit, he'd done *way* fuckin worse to keep or make a connection.
He could hear himself panting now, tiny groans because *yeah* felt good man, couldn't deny that. Skin on skin, Keller's cock against his, pushin and grindin; mouth on his neck now, tongue flitting against his ear sometimes. Didn't have to remind himself to play along now, nope. His hands were reaching around automatically now, to keep Keller's ass close, subtly encouraging.
Chris grinned into Alvarez's neck, feeling the vibrations caused by tiny moans. Shit yeah, he had total control at this moment, Alvarez a writhing mass in his arms. The thought was like an extra buzz running through his veins. He could tell Alvarez was close, panting and hissing like that. He backed off slightly, slowed down, a little tease, hoping for the right response.
And *yeah*, there it was. Alvarez hissing in disappointment, opening his eyes and GRABBING Chris, pulling him back. After that, didn't take long. One hand on Alvarez's ass, the other tracing patterns on the small of his back. More searing kisses, no reluctance this time, Alvarez just leaning into him, making tiny strangled noises. He could feel fingers clenching at his shoulders and -- Alvarez groaned low, started to shudder and Chris felt wet sticky warmth spread across his belly. He grinned, worked his hips a little longer, then followed suit, hissing.
Alvarez slid down to the floor, shaking slightly. "Shit." Chris moved to sit beside him, pretty much thinking the same thing.
Miguel looked at Keller, who was staring at him with hooded eyes and a smug grin. He laboured to pull himself together, and stood, reaching for his clothes, cleaning himself up with some random piece of cloth. Keller was still watching him. "So."
He got a slinky smile, a slight leer. "So. You wanna do this again sometime?"
Miguel let his smile go cold. "Maybe. Depends."
A little flicker of surprise washed across Keller's face. Suspicious, "On what?"
"Whatcha gonna give me, huh?"
Still in a slight haze, Alvarez's words took a few moments to sink in. When they did, Chris felt pissed. Wasn't s'posed to go this way. Alvarez wasn't playin right. Right now Alvarez should be hoping for more, eager.
The post-fuck haze was fading fast now. Fuckin got played here. Alvarez should be beggin for more. Not trying to hold out, lead *Chris* around by the dick.
He stood, leaned over the shorter man for a moment. "Nothin. You got nothin I want." He watched Alvarez glare then back out of the room, leaving with a final "Fuck you Keller. Keep your hands off me."
Chris stayed put for a few more minutes, seething inwardly. Fuckin Alvarez. Played him. Played exactly the role Chris had wanted him to play. How fuckin *easy* was he to read?
Miguel walked down the hall, furious. He'd fallen into the trap too fuckin easily. Had let Keller play him, lead him along. No real appreciation of Miguel there, nothin he could use to keep Keller hooked. All a fuckin game to that fucker. No fuckin connections to be made there. How had Keller known the right fuckin buttons to push? Was he *that* open to everyone?