Said had been on his way to the laundry room, toting a sack of dirty clothes. Just as he reached the door, Ryan O'Reilly had passed by in his customary smooth saunter and with a surreptitious nod, the wily Irishman was silently directing Said to look behind him, at something inside the laundry room. Although Said was perturbed by O'Reilly's gesture, he turned and looked in the direction of his nod and nearly gasped aloud at the sight that greeted his unsuspecting eyes. Beecher and another inmate whose face he couldn't place were huddled together in the tight space between the wall and the industrial dryers, kissing and pawing at each other like drunken, hormone-ridden teenagers.
The two men were so focused on each other they didn't even bother to stop kissing and touching one another as Said burst into the room, tossing his bag of laundry to the floor, where it was quickly forgotten.
He stood there for several moments, watching the two men -- Beecher's hands crept down and unzipped his fly, shoved his trousers down as he caught the other man's mouth in an eager, hungry, but surprisingly gentle kiss. Said couldn't bear to watch any longer. He gritted his teeth.
"Beecher!" He shouted, his deep, booming voice echoed off the metal framed glass windows.
Tobias grudgingly broke the kiss, casting an impassive glance in Said's direction. He sighed and gave the inmate he'd been molesting a nudge, letting him know it was time to make himself scarce. Seeing that Said would not tolerate even a single word of protest or argument, the other inmate tugged his trousers back up and beat a hasty retreat. Beecher ambled out of the corner, seemingly unruffled by Said's ire, pulling up his own trousers and zipping them, watching as his erstwhile quick-fuck-to-be hustled out the door.
"I'll seeya," he murmured absently as he crossed over to a dryer, opened it and began unloading and sorting through his clean clothes, oblivious to Said.
"You know," Said began with a frown, "you used to be addicted to alcohol and heroin, but this obsession? It's the worst... and the most dangerous." Still, Tobias continued folding his clothes, behaving as though Said wasn't even in the room. Said crossed over to him, grasped him by both arms, forcing Beecher to look at him, face him and the words he was saying. "Hey... I'm talkin' to you."
"Ohh, I like it when you're rough," Beecher's tongue flickered out, at once lascivious, teasing and repulsive. Said flinched involuntarily as though he had a handful of vipers and pushed the other man away; Tobias staggered back a step, tripped over his own feet and fell sprawling.
"You're a slut, Beecher," he spat the words out quickly, forcefully as though it sickened him to even say them. Beecher was almost shocked, hearing such a coarse word coming from the mouth of an invariably eloquent, reserved man such as Said. "You'll sleep with anyone."
"So?" Tobias sighed and looked up at Said as he propped himself up on his elbows, "You're just pissed 'cause I haven't offered you any lately." He lay back on the tile floor, folded arms pillowing his head. "But -- oh, no, that's right," he crooned, tone filled with fetid sarcasm, "you don't want that. 'Cause we're just 'friends'."
"Why are you doing this to yourself? What are you getting out of it?"
"I told you. Wasn't my first answer good enough for you?" Beecher shot back sharply. "You want it in simpler terms? Okay, let's try that. Chris doesn't love me anymore. My son is dead because of me, my daughter is probably gonna have to see shrinks for the rest of her life... because of me. " He stood, hands curled into fists at his sides. "When that little piece of Nazi-spawned shit took my kids, when he killed my son, he tore my soul out." Tobias' hand shot out, grabbing Said's arm by the wrist and placing the flat of his palm on his chest. "There's nothing in here. Understand? I am empty. There's no blood, 'cause I bled it all out when Vern stabbed me. I don't have any tears left, 'cause I cried them all for my boy. Don't have a heart because Chris broke it when he turned me away."
"No," Said whispered, feeling tears pooling in his own eyes.
"Yes," he replied, voice and eyes hard as stone. "That's your answer. When those fucks touch me -- when I let them touch me -- I can feel again. Feel something besides all the pain and hurt and anger. You may call it denial, you may call it an addiction, but you know what? I don't fucking care anymore. I'm just sick of the pain, sick of crying for my babies or a man who doesn't give a shit about me anymore. What good do tears do? What good is any of it?"
"Tears and pain and sadness are all part of life," Said replied evenly, even as tears coursed down his cheeks. With some effort, he swallowed around the lump in his throat and continued, "It reminds us that we are still living. It ... gives us... release."
"Release?" Tobias leered as he pushed Said away. "Release. There. See? You answered your own question. You look to Allah for release, forgiveness, peace?"
"Yes."
"Well, I'm doing the same thing. Except I'm looking for it in their pants," he giggled, a sound like a broken music box trying to play its original sweet melody and failing miserably. The giggle evaporated and Tobias was deadly calm once again, "You find your release in your own way, I find it in mine. Who the fuck do you think you are, trying to take that away from me? The single, tiny shred of pleasure I'm able to find in this god-forsaken pile of bricks?"
"Tobias, what do I have to do to convince you to put an end to this self-destructive behavior?" At his wit's end, Said sighed, planting both hands on his hips.
"Kiss me."
"Be serious," he scoffed.
"I am. If you kiss me, I'll stop screwing around. I'll do whatever you want," Tobias took a couple of steps towards Said, eyes and tone plaintive.
"If I do that, I'd be taking you on as my prag. I see what you're doing, Beecher. Is that what you want? You'd rather be my prag than your own man? It's more comfortable being at the end of the leash rather than holding onto it. You think that if you're not in control, you don't have to take responsibility for the things you do?"
"Would it be so bad? You've treated me -- you've always treated me -- like an equal. It could be different with you and me. It wouldn't be like it was with Chris or Vern... it could be good."
"No," he shook his head, "I am not Adebisi. I do not take pleasure in enslaving the souls of others."
"I could protect you. Nobody fucks with me -- they all think I'm fruit-loops -- nobody'd come near you, with me around."
"Adebisi has offered me protection countless times and every time he has offered, I have refused him. Everything comes with a price and in Oz the prices are inordinately high. I don't need or want your protection, Tobias."
"Then what do you need?" A few more steps closer, now, and he reached out, catching the sleeve of Said's shirt in his fingertips. "Whatever you need, I can get it for you, I can do it for you. Just tell me. What do you want?"
"I want my friend back," Said wrenched his arm out of Beecher's grasp and the other man let out an almost inaudible whimper. "Tobias Beecher. The man who stood with me when no other man would even look at me, the man who granted me mercy and companionship, the man who had respect for himself."
"You're the only person here that never hurt me," Beecher knelt down in front of Said, his head bowed. "You never wanted anything from me... and look at me -- look at what I'm doing." He buried his face in his hands with a muffled sob. "Fuck."
"Tobias," with a sigh, Said knelt down in front of the other man, clasped his trembling shoulder.
"Why don't you call me Toby anymore?" He sniffed and sat back on his haunches, letting his hands drop limply into his lap.
"Toby," Said corrected himself as he gently kneaded Beecher's shoulder, let his hand slip up to cup the tearstained face. "Toby."
"Hmmm... s'nice," he leaned into Said's touch, eyes fluttering closed with a soft sniffle. "I like the way your voice sounds when you say my name."
"Toby... open your eyes. Look at me." He did as Said asked and a pair of glassy, clouded blue eyes were soon settled on him intently. "You were there for me when I was in pain, when others' vanity and ambition wounded me. Let me be there for you. Together, Allah willing, we can heal your wounds, cleanse you of your guilt and vengeful feelings towards Schillinger." He cradled Toby's face in both hands, "You can win your soul back. You will be whole and strong again."
"How?" Watery blue eyes blinked at him in confusion.
"It is who you are, it's the way of life. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away."
"The Lord, huh?" A wan grin.
"I wasn't always a Muslim," Said chuckled softly, his heart warming as he gently wiped away the tears on Beecher's cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.
"Kareem?"
"Yes?"
"Would you... would you kiss me again?"
"Oh, Toby..." he sighed, letting his hands slip from Beecher's face as he twisted and fell back against the dryers. "Why does this mean so much to you? It's the one thing I still don't understand."
"After all that's happened... thinking about Chris, it's like every kiss, every time he held me, was a lie. It just felt all wrong," Tobias shifted to face Said, fidgeting hands still folded in his lap. "When I kissed you, I actually felt something. For the first time in... so long. With Chris -- I loved him, but there was all this pain wrapped up inside the love. But when I kissed you, it wasn't like it was with them or with Chris. It felt good, it felt real." He lifted his head, his jaw squared, determined eyes seeking his out, "You didn't want anything from me -- you never did and you still don't. I feel safe with you, I trust you."
Leaning forward, Beecher planted his hands on the floor in front of him and crawled over to Said on his hands and knees. Moving slowly, carefully, he levered himself up and slung one leg over both of Said's, straddling his lap.
"Toby, please, don't --"
"Just one kiss?" he entreated. "I won't hurt you, I promise."
"I know," he let his head fall back against the dryer door.
"Just... please trust me," Beecher cupped Said's cheek in his hand, smoothing his thumb over the finely sculpted cheekbone. At those words, Said let his eyes slip closed.
The light touch of lips to his forehead was the last thing Said had expected. Warm hands cupped his face, fingers fanned over his cheeks, and he could still smell Toby -- that good, clean smell -- he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with it. A feathery brush to each of his eyelids and Said shivered in spite of himself.
"Tobias," he began, voice nothing more than a dry, anxious rasp in his throat.
"Shhh, it's okay," fingers smoothed over his brow, easing away the furrows, soothing him as though he were only a child. A gust of hot, moist breath against his cheek set his body to tingling. He reached up and grasped Beecher's hips, fingers closing and tightening on handfuls of sweatshirt and trousers.
And, again, those lips... soft, thin and gentle against his, drawing carefully on his upper lip, savoring, venerating. A hand sliding down to cup his throat and those thin lips parted, oh so quietly inviting. One of Said's hand journeyed up the length of Toby's back, following his spine, coming to rest at the nape of his neck as he parted his own lips, deftly capturing Beecher's mouth with his own. Hips shifting almost restlessly against Said's, Beecher let his hands stray down to Said's shoulders, gripping them lightly. And when Toby let his tongue venture out, brushing against Said's lips, tentatively seeking entrance... this time, he was not refused. With a soft moan of triumph, he teased the other man's lips with the tip of his tongue, tickled and coaxed. Said's lips closed around the tip of his tongue, suckling lightly, playfully before drawing it in. He was surprised to find that Beecher still tasted just as sweet as he had the first time... he was surprised, but on second thought, he wasn't. Beecher let out a soft whimper, arms coiling around Said's neck, pulling him closer as he nibbled at his lower lip, raking his teeth lightly over the tender flesh.
When at last the two men parted, they were both left gasping for breath. Beecher sat back, tongue caught between his lips for a moment as he licked them. With a subconscious hint of satisfaction, Said noted that Beecher's lips were reddened and slightly swollen, almost bruised.
The two men stared at each other in silence, each evaluating the other, when at last Toby smiled -- a small, barely perceptible curl of one corner of his mouth -- and ran a hand up the length of Said's arm, coming to rest on his shoulder.
"See?" he whispered, smile broadening, "I told you it could be good." He rolled his hips forward a bit, coming in contact with Said's burgeoning erection. "Looks like you're starting to agree with me, too."
Said was up off the floor in a flash, unceremoniously dumping Beecher off of his lap and back onto the cold tiles. He snatched his bag of dirty laundry up, shouldered the glass door open and was gone.
Tobias Beecher reclined on the tiles with a ragged sigh, lacing his hands together at his middle and stared up at the florescent bars that lined the ceiling of the laundry room. The last relationship in Em City -- well, the last one that had truly meant anything to him -- and he'd fucked it up. No bridge left untouched by the torches of his own self-loathing, no sirree bob.
Gathering himself up off of the floor, Beecher dropped his clean clothes into the hamper, not bothering to fold the rest of them, and made his way back to his pod.