Title: Love of God

Author: Grey

Fandom: OZ

Pairing: Keller/O'Reily, but it isn't romance and it's really a Keller wanting Beecher story.

Rating: NC-17

Status: New/Complete

Archive: Yes

Series/Sequel: No

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Summary: Chris Keller wonders what the love of God feels like as he deals with the loss of Toby.

Notes: This takes place after "US Male" and "Cruel and Unusual Punishments." Thanks to Gemma and XFreak for positive strokes when going into a new fandom.

WARNING: This contains explicit language and sex. Those who are easily offended by negative remarks about religion and God might not want to read this story.

Love of God
by Grey

"So, Keller, who the fuck pissed on your head today?"

"Fuck off, O'Reily. I'm not in the mood."

O'Reily moved around to sit beside him, his body lean and tight, ready to jump away quickly. "You look about ready to rip somebody's balls off. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You're a fucking liar." He leaned in closer, his mouth near Chris's ear, the whisper like a soft tickle. "I've been watching you."

Pulling away slightly, Chris met those intense eyes, but then looked away. "Must be a pretty slow day then."

"It is, but not so slow I haven't noticed you watching Beecher like you could suck him off without thinking twice."

"Get the fuck away from me."

"Look, I'm just saying you should watch your back, man. People find out you're pining over Beecher again, well, they might think the wrong thing."

"Wrong thing?"

"Yeah, you know, like you're really a fag or something."

Chris sat back in his chair, crossing his arms as he shook his head. "You're so full of shit. I'm not pining."

"But?"

"But what?"

"But you helped him get even with the Nazi and you're still not back in your pod, right? What the fuck did you expect?"

"I didn't expect shit."

"Sure you did. Tell me you don't want the bitch."

His muscles tightened, his hands gripping his upper arms to keep from swinging. The words came out a low growl. "Don't call him that."

"Why not? You're better off without him."

"You've got that wrong."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, he's better off without me."

"Whatever." He shifted closer before he spoke, his words traveling on warm quick puffs. "I'm just saying, you're sitting out here all alone and in the open watching him with that look you get."

"What look?"

"The one you get when you're pissed or horny."

"You're crazy."

"Am I wrong?"

Standing up, Chris shook his head, his words tempered with control gained over years of being fucked with and fucked over. "Whatever I am, it's none of your goddamn business. Now, leave me the fuck alone."

The younger man stood up, his face serious behind the smile. "Sure, but speaking of business, we need to talk about some things later."

"What?"

"I said later. I'll meet you in my pod in an hour."

"Why can't we talk now?"

Walking away, his backside moving with more grace than a prisoner's should, he called back over his shoulder, "An hour."

Keller closed his eyes, his mind going back over the last few days, the meetings with Sister Pete, his growing need for Toby. Taking a deep breath, he forced them away, pushed them back from the open spots of his thinking. As he turned, he saw Beecher with O'Reily, the two of them looking his way, Toby stolid as usual, Ryan laughing too loud with his arm around the other man's shoulder. Son of a bitch. He hated this shit.

Hands fisted, he stormed away, his mind jumpy as he headed to the gym. He needed to punch something hard, jab it and pound it to pulp. Suddenly, getting stripped naked and thrown into the hole for killing cocksucker Ryan O'Reily seemed like a fine fucking deal. If it weren't for his brother, the boy would already be dead. Keller lived with the heavy weight of his own sins, but he sure as hell didn't want to add leaving that poor bastard Cyril O'Reily to fend for himself in OZ to the fucking list. Shit.

*************

"Hey."

"Hey, Cyril." Keller stopped beating up on the bag and backed away, the sweat stinging his eyes as he pulled off the gloves. "Where's your brother?"

"In the pod."

"Does he know you're here in the gym by yourself?"

"You're here, too. Want to box?"

"Not today."

"I box good."

"I know you do. I've seen you fight. You kick ass."

"You think I'm good?"

"Yeah." He leaned back against the wall, his heart slowing down, the earlier rush of anger and jealousy battened down. "You shouldn't be in here without Ryan."

"Ryan's busy."

"Doing what?"

"Don't know. He was mad at me for something."

"Mad at you?"

"Yeah. He yelled, but he didn't mean it." The sad face stared at him, the innocence in those child-like eyes almost too much to take in. He couldn't remember ever having that much trust, ever.

Keller pushed away from the wall, talking as he walked away. "Come on. I've got to turn in the gloves and get a shower. You shouldn't be here without your brother."

"How come?"

"He'll be pissed."

"Again?"

"Yeah, again. It's not safe here alone."

"You're alone."

"Yeah, but I'm not you."

Cyril's head tilted as he stared at him, his face contorted in confusion. Patting him on his back, Chris smiled but kept his voice serious and even. "Just don't come in here without me or your brother, okay?"

"What about Beecher?"

"What about him?"

"Can I come with him?"

Biting back his reply, Keller glanced over in the doorway, Schillinger and his crew staring in his direction. The younger man cringed in his grip and pulled away. Fuck. "Look, Cyril. It's okay. He's not going to hurt you."

"Yes, he will."

"No, he won't. Just don't say anything and do what I say. Okay?"

"Okay."

As Schillinger approached, he put on the mask, the one he always wore when dealing with the man who scared him more than God, a man who cost him the one thing he'd never find again. "Hey, Vern."

"Keller." The terse tone warned him of the mood, cold and deadly.

"O'Reily and I were just leaving."

"O'Reily can stay." Taking a step closer, the older man stood only inches away. Behind him, Cyril's breathing increased as he touched his back lightly.

"I don't think so." He swallowed hard as he met those pale blue eyes, the eyes that never wavered and only blinked after he did.

"What did you say?"

"Might want to get that checked, Vern."

"What?"

"Your hearing. A man your age can't be too careful."

"Listen, Sweetcheeks, you keep talking shit like that and I'll have to ask if you want your balls roasted or served up rare. Of course, I'd have to find them first. Might take me awhile."

"Yeah, I guess fucking all those pussies and not having a pair of your own, you might forget where to look."

Before Schillinger or his men could react, he motioned at the rear approach of the guard. "Maybe we can continue this dance later, ladies. The hacks don't look like they're in the mood to clean up blood today."

"Fuck you, Keller."

"Sorry, Vern. Not today. Got other plans. Come on, Cyril. Your brother's waiting."

As they hurried out, the younger man whispered, his voice shaky. "He's really pissed at you."

"Then I guess that makes us even."

*************

"Cocksucking son of a bitch. I'm going to kill his Nazi ass."

"Settle down, O'Reily. You get thrown in the hole, you can't do shit for the kid."

Running his hand back through his brown hair, his features twisted, Ryan sat down on the toilet, his head down. "I want his ass dead."

"Fucking stand in line." Chris crossed his arms around his middle as he watched the war play in the man across from him, the internal struggles O'Reily usually covered so well making him look so much older. "You just have to be careful. Right now Schillinger's brewing."

"Brewing?"

"Thinking of a way to get back at me and Beecher for Andrew."

"Why? You didn't threaten to fuck the boy."

"No, but he knows I helped out, making out like Beecher was the fucking savior so Schillinger junior could fall for his ass."

"Yeah, that makes sense.

"You just don't want to do anything to draw his attention."

"I'll draw his fucking attention if he ever hurts Cyril again." O'Reily stepped to the glass door and stared out at his brother, his hands under his chin as he watched Miss Sally. "I swear, I'll kill him if he does anything to him."

"Then keep better tabs on the kid. Why'd you throw him out earlier?"

Ryan turned, his face more calm, but still angry. "You don't understand."

"Understand what?"

"I love my brother."

"Yeah, so?"

"Yeah, so, he's still a pain in the ass sometimes. I just needed a few minutes to myself, you know? It's not like we get much privacy in this shitty place anyway."

Chris smiled, the idea niggling at the back of his mind too amusing to keep to himself. "You wanted to jerk off in private, huh?"

"Shut the fuck up. What's it to you?"

"It doesn't mean shit to me."

"Then what's so fucking funny?"

"Not a damn thing." He stepped closer, his body leaning right behind Ryan's in the doorway, his voice husky and keeping his words tight. "It's just that if I hadn't come along, your brother could be with Schillinger right now getting his ass fucked or his mouth stuffed with all dear old Vern has to offer, and believe me, that's no small thing we're talking about."

Instead of pulling away, Ryan stayed still, the sweat beading his forehead. Chris ran a hand along his spine, rubbing twice, drinking in the small shudders, the tiny flex of muscles responding to his touch. The power surged through his own cock as he whispered, "What do you think that's worth, huh?"

"What are you doing?"

"What's it feel like?" This time he cupped the firm ass through the thin cloth, the clench under his palm inviting an even stronger touch.

"Feels like it might be a good time to move away from the door."

"Yeah." As they moved to the corner away from the direct line of sight, Chris stroked the side of his face before Ryan captured his hand. "I'm not a fag, man."

"Neither am I."

"As long as we're clear about that, right?"

"Right."

"And no fucking."

"No fucking."

"Just payback for today."

He slid his hand down the front, massaging the bulge, the heat stoking sizzles up Chris's spine. Closing his eyes, he pretended Toby stood there, not Ryan. Toby touched him, fondled him as he pulled his sweats down just far enough to free the erection. Wet heat swallowed him up, took him so fast to pleasure his breathing stopped, his heart nagging for air and getting only pitiful scraps, everything too thick to take in. Toby's mouth engulfed him, his tongue hot and slippery, the tip running along the veins, sucking and pumping his head to the same rhthym of his own hips. He combed his fingers through Toby's light brown silky hair, seeing what he wanted to see, reeling
from the thrust of pure fire in his belly, the pressure building too quickly, too much flashing behind his lids, too much loss to recover with one monstrous wave swinging his mind to another time when Toby loved him, touched him like this.

God, he missed this, missed the momentary make believe that someone could love a piece of shit like Chris Keller.

Biting back his own cries, he swelled the final time before releasing with the rush of bone popping force, his back arched against the wall, frozen with the grief of coming, the awful ache of knowing that when he opened his eyes, O'Reily and not Toby would stand and wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, his face triumphant and controlling.

"Now, get the fuck out."

Sex-stunned, Keller staggered up and straightened his pants, his eyes not quite focused on the present. "What?"

"I said get the fuck out. We're even."

"Yeah, right. Okay." Still seeing Toby in his mind, it took a few awkward steps to get to the door.

"And don't think this means shit between us. We do business together, nothing more. Got that?"

"Yeah, I've got that."

"This never happened."

"No. Nothing ever does in OZ."

*************

"What does the love of God feel like?"

Asking the question got him nowhere. Sister Pete obviously couldn't tell him, couldn't explain what it might feel like to know that the first great bastard of the universe didn't give a flying fuck about most of his people. Fuck God and fuck his love and anything else he might want to spread around like it would make any difference at all to some piece of shit like Chris Keller.

God was just like every other alpha male in the motherfucking world, always pissing on the pack, making sure everyone knew his place, knew he didn't stand a chance at salvation if his jaws came down on your throat, if for whatever reason he decided you weren't worthy of his love.

And one of the few things Chris knew for sure, the love of God would never be in his life. He'd lost any chance at even a surrogate to that power by losing Toby, breaking his bones and his heart and his trust. Nothing much mattered after that. Just going through the paces didn't seem quite worth it anymore.

Lying back in his bunk, hands behind his head, he lay thinking of how much he'd give for a bike to ride wild, some souped up Harley to drive straight into the wind and over a cliff into hell.

"Keller?"

"Beecher."

"I heard about you and O'Reily."

Everything stilled, the room suddenly smaller. He sat us slowly, the pressure in his head pushing out at his temples. "Yeah? What'd you hear?"

"You did a little face off with Vern to get Cyril out of the gym."

"So? What's it to you?"

Limping a little further into the cell, Beecher leaned against the wall as he stared, his eyes focused, his face set to study his target. "I was just wondering if you've fucked him yet."

"That's a damn stupid question."

"Why's that?"

"Because you know I've fucked him."

"I'm not talking about Schillinger. I'm talking about Cyril."

The words whipped through him, the power of the sting like venom racing through his arms and into his tongue. "Were you always such an asshole or did I just miss that part?"

"They say love is blind."

"Fuck you."

"You wish." A small smile curled his lips, a small smirk calling to be smacked away. "Now, answer the question. Have you fucked him yet?"

"No, I haven't fucked him and I'm not going to. What the hell do you think I am?" Even as he said it, he realized the opening, the wound gaping there for Beecher to poke.

"I know what you are, and that's why I'm asking. I know you don't do shit without a reason. So, what's your plan, get him to trust you, love you as much as the poor bastard can love, and then fuck him and break his heart before Vern does?"

He stood up slowly, his thighs heavy even as his body shook both with anger and desire for the man taunting him, the man pulling at every part of him. Stepping closer, he noticed the composure, the steady body waiting, not pulling back even a fraction. "I wouldn't do that, Toby."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

The words iced the air. "You don't deserve to call me that anymore. You never did."

"You're wrong." He extended and braced his arm against the wall near Toby's face, his body leaning in, his heart racing at the closeness. Heat surged through his skin, the air catching on the sweat tracing his body. "You love me."

"And you're a piece of shit."

"Yeah, well, there's no argument there."

"So, why would I love a piece of shit?"

"I don't know, but you did and you do." He swallowed hard, testing the dryness in his own throat, summoning up the courage to push the stubborn words forward. "And I love you."

"You don't know what that means." He never looked up, never wavered in his speech, every single word even.

"Then teach me."

"I already tried that."

"Try again."

"Not in this life time." As he stood to leave, Chris took his arm, only to have Beecher stop and meet his eyes. "Take your fucking hand off me."

He released him but not before he asked, "Why did you bother coming here?"

"Because I want you to stay away from Cyril."

"Why? You want him for yourself?"

"No, but if his brother even suspects you might hurt him, I'll help him kill you."

"What?"

"You heard me. And for that matter, if you want to have a cockfest with Ryan, try to do it without putting on a fucking show."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Liar. You're both lucky Murphy likes Ryan or you'd both be in the hole. It's no secret he hates your sorry ass."

"It didn't mean anything."

Beecher stepped to the door, shook his head with the same sorrow he wore almost every day now. "It never does with you, Keller. It never does."

And then he left, limping away on legs broken by a man who loved him, a man who knew the love of God only as a negative, only as a heart full of never-ending ache and wanting.

The End