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Many thanks to miladygrey for the speedy beta.
Notes: Inspired by groaty, who gave the best description of disheveled *ever*. Granted, that word doesn't appear here, but it was her words that got my muses all turned on and sparked this in such a very short time. This is for you, for being evil that way. ;) Also for Catheights, who I thought could use some distraction.
Between Stone and Sky
Dreams were an escape in Oz, a shifting, impermanent one. Locked down at night, you had at least one place to go--your mind. A place inside the walls, where you could get lost beyond them. Sometimes it was just as dark and fucked up, but sometimes you could taste what you'd lost, never knowing it was now gone. In dreams you could fly. Your very own built-in high, like a cheap unpredictable drug.
The wall held Ryan up as he found a sweet dirty gratification all his own. The room didn't matter, wasn't even there. Neck craning back in pleasure, seeing dusky blue sky, as his body arched into a mouth. Nice wet suck on his cock. Just what he needed. Couldn't stop his breathless grin, lost in the sensation with everything he had. Nothing but this. Slipping his hands through soft, short hair. Feeling it curl around his fingers, echoing the hard curl of his toes in his boots from that mouth. Pants undone and shoved half-way down his thighs, shirt pushed up by a roaming hand. A rush that couldn't be manufactured or snorted. Body tingling and so fucking alive, riding the bliss. He looked down into a reflection of the sky. Blue eyes. Just as alive. His hands cupping that messy blond head.
Fuck. Lawboy. Ryan's groan fractured with surprise, but he couldn't stop the need pumping in his blood, fingers clenching and clinging to the thought that those eyes looked bright and free, as his light thrusts, uncontrollably driven by want, were just swallowed down by that perfect wet slip.
Ryan woke up with a jerk, a denied shudder. The ache in his balls grabbed his immediate bleary attention before his eyes even finished cracking open. Every nerve slowly waking up was living for the sweet itchy feel of stiff cock brushing fabric, sneaking out of his boxers.
It was still dark. Still murky night. Ryan rolled onto his back with a rough groan, throat scratchy, as he rubbed his hand over his face.
He saw blue painted on the back of his closed lids.
Sky and Beecher.
Ryan threw himself out of the top bunk, just to feel the knee-cracking force of the hard floor cool under his feet. Maybe it would shock him back to sense. He left the bed to keep from slipping his hand under the sheets. He padded over the hard floor to the sink, checking the time on the cheap plastic clock kept on the ledge above it.
Three in the morning.
The ache in his boxers was undeterred by the fog in his head and the chill of the stale-aired room. He threw a look back to the bunk, to the lump under covers on the bottom. The podmate that didn't really matter, as long as they stayed still and quiet. He didn't care if he bothered them, or woke them the fuck up, as long as they didn't bother him for it. This one was either playing by the rules, or they slept like the dead. Either was fine with Ryan.
He turned his attention back to the sink. Staring into his own eyes made dark and glittering by the reflection. Too dark to see the green. Not blue. Shannon had safe brown eyes too. He ran his hand through bed-mussed hair with a short cough.
His cock wasn't going back to sleep though, still insistently half-poking out of his shorts. Shit.
Three steps to the toilet. He resisted the urge to climb back up into the bed. It would be warm and worn in from his body heat, made comfortable by it even with the thin mattress. Too easy to slip back into the fog of his thoughts, his dreams. Mix them with reality.
He faced the stone wall, reaching out to the side with his left hand to find a brace on more of that cold stone. Grounding him there over the steel toilet, like that same solidness under his feet. He closed his eyes and slid his hand down his bare stomach, thumb idly grazing the long scar under his ribs out of habit on the way down. He reached to pull himself out of his boxers instead of pulling them down. Needed quick and simple, nothing that reminded him of those dreams clinging to his mind.
His sleep-warmed hand wrapped around his cock. His body sighed out its relief instinctively, unable to stop the soft breath that escaped at the steady touch encircling skin wired with need. Finally. His hand immediately fell into the tugging rhythm. Practiced and out of his control.
Just don't think about it.
"Mm..." Another soft little breath gusting out as it did feel so fucking good, the fingers of his free hand curling against the wall. A release of everything pent up and aching for attention after that fucking dream.
Hand and dick slightly dry, but that didn't really matter. The friction was good enough, and that raw rub was the distraction he needed.
Couldn't stop from drawing his thumb over the head after the build of that rhythm brought the leak of pre-cum, though. Smearing just those drops of slickness over his cock, wrapping his palm tighter and keeping up the stroke.
His mind wanted to feed that desire pulsing under his skin, growing heavy in his balls. Thoughts immediately slid to mussed blond hair and lit up eyes, Lawboy willingly on his knees, the one providing that wet building heat.
Ryan focused, hand stuttering his rhythm for a second with the sudden roughness of his jerk as he tried to push that away.
Shannon sucked cock well. He had plenty of memories of her to draw on. Fucking all day in a small apartment. Think of pussy, not wide-eyed men newly thrown into hell behind bars. Shannon. The name arcing across the skin of his inner arm. She was good with her hands too. She'd tease the shit out of him. Draw long lacquered nails over his hardening cock so fucking feather light. Just this side of good, balancing there and not quite crossing over into pain. A tingling prickle over his nerves that just made him harder.
Yeah, that was better. His bottom lip tucked into his mouth, remembering kissing her, wanting something to tease with his tongue. The light bite of his teeth bringing that nice little ache to the forefront, matching the pull of his cock still filling his hand, slipping against his palm faster now. Firm, with just the right rubbing twists adding to it.
Her mouth. Oh fuuck, her mouth. Shannon could deep throat sometimes, at the end of a nice long slow suck. Finishing him off with the tight feel of her swallowing around him.
Ryan's low groan slipped out from his now damp lips as his hand chased the sensation. Yess. His other fist softly knocked against the wall, scraping his knuckles, rocking up on the ball of his bare feet just a little, moving into it, as his stroke just got better, speeding along like his heavy breath. The picture being painted behind his lids shifted, following the course of pleasure.
Shannon blurring back to blue. Imagining a larger hand, still so soft, stroking over his stomach, teasing down to cup his balls. Oh fuuuck. It was Tobias's mouth his hips were softly rolling into again. Just as hot, slick, and eager. Not as skilled, but making up for it by trying, and hitting the rhythm of the suck with a perfect neediness.
Ryan's eyes fluttered open on another groan.
Couldn't trust his mind. Stare at the wall. Cold stone. His palm went flat against the wall at his side as he stared straight ahead. He tried to obliterate the soft wet dream, as his jerk turned rough again. Not a mouth. A hand. His hand.
Friction slipping faster as his strokes stayed tight, perfunctory, but consumed him just the same. Couldn't stop it. Touch feeling so good, living for that pressure building in his cock, the adrenaline racing the sweet ache through his body. Feeling his balls tighten. He bit his lip again to hold in his moan, to hold off the things in his head. Hand slipping over his cock so fast, losing the steadiness completely to recklessly chase the pure sensation.
His gaze shifted down to steel and water as he came, rush searing through him. The release stealing his breath. Watching his cum, carefully angled. Hearing the small splash of it into the toilet as his hand pumped the last frantic strokes.
They slowed to lazy as he finished, milking his shiver, before he finally let go of his lax cock, head hanging down, other palm still flat against the wall, even as his dull short nails dug into the stone a little.
Fuck. Drained and tired still, he turned away from the jizz floating almost comically dirty in the bowl.
The lump in the bottom bunk was still in a coma, or at least helpfully playing dead. His steps steadied as he grabbed his cigarettes off the ledge. Banned now, but not strictly enforced quite yet. Ryan's eyes closed too long in a blink. Sky and blue.
Fuck, an itch twitched under his skin even in his relief. It was just more muffled and quiet now. He wanted...to get high. Lose it there. Forget. He opened his eyes and pulled out a cigarette instead. Too late to waste good drugs...besides...
Tobias wasn't here. The warm body that he could slip his arm around, that would press close and breathe warmly against his ear, getting lost with him.
Fuck. Even as he was trying to forget the dream, Beecher managed to slip into his thoughts.
Maybe getting high wasn't a good idea after all. He found a match, cigarette clamped lightly between his lips as he struck it.
He didn't touch Lawboy like that. Ever.
He was just...fucking tired. Lonely. Stir-crazy. Couldn't control dreams.
He could control reality. Some aspects of it, anyway. Couldn't get out of this shithole, couldn't fuck Miss Sally's perfect tits. Couldn't save Beecher from Nazi cocksuckers.
But they could both find another type of relief. Where they were both...safe.
Ryan stood there by the sink, taking a long drag. Smoke feeling good filling his lungs. Soothing another kind of ache, dulling the stress of the thoughts in his brain a little. He was half tempted to walk to that glass wall. Look out.
But he'd either see sleepers...or Beecher awake. Body being used for tight holes and the rush of power.
Ryan clamped down on a shudder with another long drag. Exhaling slowly and watching the smoke curl absently.
Ryan wouldn't join in that. Ever. He wouldn't touch that way. Wouldn't take that, cross those lines. Dreams weren't reality. Fucking with guys, forcing anyone -- that wasn't him. He kept those thoughts firm, pushing out the gauzy memory of blue eyes that didn't look forced, but hot blooded and willing, of how fucking good it felt to connect and be touched.
He walked back to the toilet, the dully quiet slap of his feet emphatically leaving all those thoughts behind. Those long sweet drags on his cigarette helping him block everything out.
They called them fags over in Britain. The thought came into his mind randomly as he flicked the half-smoked cigarette into the toilet with another plopping splash, the spark killed by water.
He reached out to cool steel and flushed, before he went to heave himself back up into bed, hoping for no dreams.
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