Sinking 03/10 - Oz: Beecher/Murphy
Sinking
by Dr Squidlove
drsquidlove@livejournal.com
Beecher didn't fuck up his parole buying drugs for Bonnie. Yay, everything is awesome! Only... he's maybe not handling his parole as well as other people think he is. Meanwhile, Sean Murphy's been pining after Tim McManus for too damned long. Even so, the two of them hooking up for a blow job is about the worst idea possible.
Beecher/Murphy, with sidelines in Beecher/Keller and McManus/Murphy
Rated R for considerable amounts of fucking.
Wordcount this chapter: 1983
Total wordcount: 29 000-ish
Oz and all its characters are the property of Tom Fontana and HBO. I make no profit, and intend as little infringement as I possibly can.
Sinking 3/10
by Dr Squidlove
In the previous chapter, Sean mused about how his ill-advised intimacy with Tobias Beecher might ruin his relationship with Tim. Back at work, he had plenty of time to reflect on how it could ruin his career and the rest of his life. Mercifully, and mysteriously, Beecher didn't snitch to Keller. Sister Pete proved once again that she's not the world's most perceptive psychologist.
Okay, so Sean was certifiable. There was no other reason he'd be here, sitting in his car in the Stop & Shop parking lot opposite the only patent law firm in Burlington, wondering why Beecher hadn't come out.
He should start the car, point it west and head home. Pick up some groceries first, pack a lunch for tomorrow and get a decent night's sleep. Like a sensible fucking adult.
What the hell was his plan, anyway? Go in and ask? If Beecher didn't work there, he'd look like an idiot. And if he did, then what? Apologise for stalking him?
Sean checked the clock, watched a mother tugging her kid away from playing in the supermarket's automatic door. Get your goddamn groceries, Murphy, and go home.
A few more people came out of the office. It was almost six o'clock; maybe Beecher was working late, trying to prove himself. Was Sean gonna sit around until seven? Eight? For someone he didn't even believe was there? Sean wondered if he'd missed him, but not really. Beecher didn't work in there; Sean'd put money on it.
So what? What did it matter if Beecher spun a few lies for Sister Pete? It's not like he'd be the first. Not like Sean was gonna go running back to her with the truth. One blow job and Sean was playing Sherlock Holmes, like there was any chance anyone was gonna unravel the mystery of Beecher.
Fuck this. Sean climbed out of his car and headed for the store, one hopeful eye still lingering on the law office. Or apparently both eyes, because he almost crashed right into the train of shopping carts. "Sorry pal-"
So much for prison reflexes. Sean and Beecher stared at each other, mouths hanging open.
Beecher wore a store apron and a matching baseball cap, 'Toby' on a cheap plastic name tag. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Sean floundered. "I was just..."
"In the area? Fuck you."
"...wondering if what you told Sister Pete was the truth."
"You've been talking about me?"
"She has. She's been proud of how well you're doing." Sean didn't mean to sound accusing, but he saw how the words cut.
"Yeah. Well. If she wants to believe someone can walk out of that place back into a legal career, who am I to shatter her illusions?"
"She'd say she's your friend."
Beecher heaved a sigh. "What is it you want, Murphy?"
It should have been a simple question, but Sean honestly didn't know. Maybe this was just curiosity. This all felt surreal, standing in a parking lot as the sodium lights flickered on, arguing with a man Sean never should have laid eyes on - let alone hands - outside Oz.
"You didn't tell him."
Beecher shot him a look that clearly said 'I'd ask what you're talking about, but I don't especially care.'
"You didn't tell Keller. About me."
"That you're a faggot?"
Sean held his shudder. He fucking hated that word.
"This may surprise you, Murphy, but Chris and I have better things to talk about than whose ass you're ploughing."
"Even when it's yours?" Sean cursed himself and his stupid mouth, but Beecher looked pleased. Crazy motherfucker.
"You haven't ploughed my ass. Or are you asking for the chance?"
"I ain't-
"I collect shopping carts for minimum wage. Wear a name tag and call my twenty-two year-old boss 'sir'." He canted his hips like it was some sort of seduction. "Is that a bigger turn-on for you than being fresh out of prison?"
"Shit, Beecher, that ain't why I'm here. I was just... worried."
"One blow job and we're boyfriends, now? You weren't that good."
"I wasn't... Not everything's about fucking!" He was way too loud, voice raised in the middle of Beecher's workplace, but Beecher didn't seem to notice.
"Of course it is. It's all about fucking, and fucking over. What's your game, Officer Murphy, sir?"
"This is bullshit. Maybe you ain't gonna walk back into a partnership, but you can do better than pushing carts."
Beecher's face twisted into something ugly. "Fuck you. Fuck you, you miserable cunt hack. You don't know the first fucking thing about getting out of that miserable hole, the way people look at you when they know, and half of them just see criminal scum and the other half see straight through to the goddamn prison bitch, and you can see them wondering how and where and how much you got raped. They all see one kind of worthless fuck or another, and they don't want you anywhere near their cash or their daughters or their shiny fucking company image." Beecher was almost spitting in Sean's face now, unholy fury, and Sean only held his ground through instinct, bracing himself for Beecher's first swing. "So don't you fucking tell me how I can just dance into some nice fucking office job as though I spent five years vacationing on a motherfucking beach."
"What-" Shut up, Sean, "What happened to your father's firm? I thought they took you back."
"My father is dead, you think they had any reason to keep me?"
"Thought you were a good lawyer."
"I used to be." Beecher dropped back on his heels, a wry smile crossing his face, the violence gone from his eyes like morning mist. "Turns out I have anger management problems."
The break in tension made Sean dizzy, and that smile was infectious, and for a moment they were just smiling at each other.
But as Beecher stepped back he turned wistful. "Loyalty to my father only went so far. After Chris tried to-" His mouth snapped shut, another sudden turn. "Who says I deserve better than pushing carts?"
Sean rarely thought of the prisoners after they left, except to sometimes wonder how soon he'd see them come through the gates again. He knew it was hard getting back out into the world, but he'd rarely put much thought into it. If Tobias Beecher, with his brain and his family and his years of experience being a useful human being couldn't do it, Sean had to wonder how anyone held any hope for the rest of them.
"Look. Beecher. I don't know everything that went on in there. I don't know all the shit you pulled, or everything that happened to you. But you did your time, and with all the shit you went through, you more than paid for what you did to that little girl. I don't know what you deserve, but it don't help nobody that you're wasting your brain and what's left of your soul pushing carts around a parking lot."
Beecher stared at him, and Sean braced himself for anger or laughter or whatever crazy turn was coming next, but all he said was, "I want to show you something."
"What?"
"Just... follow me." Beecher looked around and got behind his train of carts, Sean trailing after the racket of crooked wheels on asphalt back to the storefront. Beecher stowed them and muttered, "This way," leading him around the side of the building.
Sean's head cracked against a pallet of discount coffee as Beecher's burning mouth slid over his cock. Jesus Christ, the guy knew just what he was doing, playing the soft underside of the head like it was a goddamn instrument, fingers rolling and tugging Sean's balls like he'd done his fancy ivy league law degree with a minor in getting Sean Murphy off.
There was nothing but a forklift between them and any grocery clerk who might wander into the loading dock to find their cart-collecting guy on his knees, hand working himself under his apron as he blew his ex-CO, store uniform hat laid neatly on the floor beside him. Later Sean was going to find this horrifying or hilarious but right now it was his needy cock in a greedy mouth and Tim with a promise of love everlasting couldn't have swayed Sean to raise his pants.
Sweet suction dragged a groan out of him, and suddenly that mouth was gone. "Shut the fuck up, I need this job."
And so Sean choked back everything that tried to escape when Beecher dragged a wet tongue from his balls to the tip of his cock and started in with grazing teeth, teasing him until Sean felt his balls tighten and then dancing away to nibble at Sean's thighs like they had no reason to rush. "Fuck. Jesus. Please."
Sean slid his fingers into Beecher's sweaty hat-hair, just a little pressure, just asking and Beecher came back, closed his teeth an inch behind the head and waited. Fuck knew if it was a tease or a threat and Sean's cock didn't much care.
It took everything Sean's upper brain had to still his hips and let go of Beecher's head, hook his fingers into the plastic wrapped around the pallet behind him. He had his cock in a shark's mouth, and what a twisted fuck he was that it only made him harder.
Suction, incredible suction and Sean was growling, begging for more or just the same. His cock sliding wet from those lips and disappearing back inside, deeper and deeper until there was nowhere left to go and Sean could feel Beecher's throat swallow around him and he threw back his head, fighting to hold on.
A sharp pinch jerked him back to see dangerous eyes flashing, and Sean realised how loud he'd been, whispered a "Sorry," and jammed his teeth shut.
Didn't make a sound as Beecher swallowed again or when he slid back, wrapping a tight grip around the base, the better to enjoy the head. Beecher sucked cock like it was the only thing in the world, like his very survival depended on how hard you blew your load.
"I'm coming, fuck-"
But Beecher just went harder, sucking the come out of him as Sean's whole body clenched and let go with a groan dragged all the way from his balls.
Beecher stayed where he was, spitting Sean's wad on the floor beside them and then suckling him as he softened, licking him clean until Sean's knees were trembling, and spitting again he climbed to his feet, tongue flicking over his lips. "You'd never survive getting fucked in prison. You squeal like a stuck pig."
It was some kind of miracle Sean could blush after that, but his face burned. He bent down for the pants sagging over his shoes, trying not to look around at the filthy mop buckets and flickering fluorescents and faded theft prevention checklist on the wall. This didn't feel like the good kind of dirty, anymore. He eyed the white puddle where Beecher had been kneeling, the blobs of creamy spit beside it, and Beecher shrugged, rubbed both in with his shoe. "There are worse things on this floor."
Great. Sean tightened his belt and lingered, wondering how the hell he was supposed to make a polite exit from this situation, but Beecher just scowled at him.
"Are you waiting for a kiss? Fuck off."
Great. He shuffled towards the propped-open emergency exit, paused again when he reached it. "What about that school teacher? She a lie, too?"
Beecher snorted and shook his head. "Believe it or not, most women's idea of Mr Right isn't an ex-con widower with a swastika on his ass and a boyfriend in the joint."
"You made her up?"
"I thought it was what Chris needed to hear." There was an odd note in his voice, more to the story that he wasn't about to share with a hack.
Which... good. Sean didn't need to be playing the role of Sister Pete here. He'd got a hell of a lot more than he'd bargained for, anyway. He pushed out the door into the grimly floodlit parking lot, checked for witnesses and headed to his car.
-----
end 3/10
by Dr Squidlove
drsquidlove@livejournal.com
Beecher didn't fuck up his parole buying drugs for Bonnie. Yay, everything is awesome! Only... he's maybe not handling his parole as well as other people think he is. Meanwhile, Sean Murphy's been pining after Tim McManus for too damned long. Even so, the two of them hooking up for a blow job is about the worst idea possible.
Beecher/Murphy, with sidelines in Beecher/Keller and McManus/Murphy
Rated R for considerable amounts of fucking.
Wordcount this chapter: 1983
Total wordcount: 29 000-ish
Oz and all its characters are the property of Tom Fontana and HBO. I make no profit, and intend as little infringement as I possibly can.
Sinking 3/10
by Dr Squidlove
In the previous chapter, Sean mused about how his ill-advised intimacy with Tobias Beecher might ruin his relationship with Tim. Back at work, he had plenty of time to reflect on how it could ruin his career and the rest of his life. Mercifully, and mysteriously, Beecher didn't snitch to Keller. Sister Pete proved once again that she's not the world's most perceptive psychologist.
Okay, so Sean was certifiable. There was no other reason he'd be here, sitting in his car in the Stop & Shop parking lot opposite the only patent law firm in Burlington, wondering why Beecher hadn't come out.
He should start the car, point it west and head home. Pick up some groceries first, pack a lunch for tomorrow and get a decent night's sleep. Like a sensible fucking adult.
What the hell was his plan, anyway? Go in and ask? If Beecher didn't work there, he'd look like an idiot. And if he did, then what? Apologise for stalking him?
Sean checked the clock, watched a mother tugging her kid away from playing in the supermarket's automatic door. Get your goddamn groceries, Murphy, and go home.
A few more people came out of the office. It was almost six o'clock; maybe Beecher was working late, trying to prove himself. Was Sean gonna sit around until seven? Eight? For someone he didn't even believe was there? Sean wondered if he'd missed him, but not really. Beecher didn't work in there; Sean'd put money on it.
So what? What did it matter if Beecher spun a few lies for Sister Pete? It's not like he'd be the first. Not like Sean was gonna go running back to her with the truth. One blow job and Sean was playing Sherlock Holmes, like there was any chance anyone was gonna unravel the mystery of Beecher.
Fuck this. Sean climbed out of his car and headed for the store, one hopeful eye still lingering on the law office. Or apparently both eyes, because he almost crashed right into the train of shopping carts. "Sorry pal-"
So much for prison reflexes. Sean and Beecher stared at each other, mouths hanging open.
Beecher wore a store apron and a matching baseball cap, 'Toby' on a cheap plastic name tag. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Sean floundered. "I was just..."
"In the area? Fuck you."
"...wondering if what you told Sister Pete was the truth."
"You've been talking about me?"
"She has. She's been proud of how well you're doing." Sean didn't mean to sound accusing, but he saw how the words cut.
"Yeah. Well. If she wants to believe someone can walk out of that place back into a legal career, who am I to shatter her illusions?"
"She'd say she's your friend."
Beecher heaved a sigh. "What is it you want, Murphy?"
It should have been a simple question, but Sean honestly didn't know. Maybe this was just curiosity. This all felt surreal, standing in a parking lot as the sodium lights flickered on, arguing with a man Sean never should have laid eyes on - let alone hands - outside Oz.
"You didn't tell him."
Beecher shot him a look that clearly said 'I'd ask what you're talking about, but I don't especially care.'
"You didn't tell Keller. About me."
"That you're a faggot?"
Sean held his shudder. He fucking hated that word.
"This may surprise you, Murphy, but Chris and I have better things to talk about than whose ass you're ploughing."
"Even when it's yours?" Sean cursed himself and his stupid mouth, but Beecher looked pleased. Crazy motherfucker.
"You haven't ploughed my ass. Or are you asking for the chance?"
"I ain't-
"I collect shopping carts for minimum wage. Wear a name tag and call my twenty-two year-old boss 'sir'." He canted his hips like it was some sort of seduction. "Is that a bigger turn-on for you than being fresh out of prison?"
"Shit, Beecher, that ain't why I'm here. I was just... worried."
"One blow job and we're boyfriends, now? You weren't that good."
"I wasn't... Not everything's about fucking!" He was way too loud, voice raised in the middle of Beecher's workplace, but Beecher didn't seem to notice.
"Of course it is. It's all about fucking, and fucking over. What's your game, Officer Murphy, sir?"
"This is bullshit. Maybe you ain't gonna walk back into a partnership, but you can do better than pushing carts."
Beecher's face twisted into something ugly. "Fuck you. Fuck you, you miserable cunt hack. You don't know the first fucking thing about getting out of that miserable hole, the way people look at you when they know, and half of them just see criminal scum and the other half see straight through to the goddamn prison bitch, and you can see them wondering how and where and how much you got raped. They all see one kind of worthless fuck or another, and they don't want you anywhere near their cash or their daughters or their shiny fucking company image." Beecher was almost spitting in Sean's face now, unholy fury, and Sean only held his ground through instinct, bracing himself for Beecher's first swing. "So don't you fucking tell me how I can just dance into some nice fucking office job as though I spent five years vacationing on a motherfucking beach."
"What-" Shut up, Sean, "What happened to your father's firm? I thought they took you back."
"My father is dead, you think they had any reason to keep me?"
"Thought you were a good lawyer."
"I used to be." Beecher dropped back on his heels, a wry smile crossing his face, the violence gone from his eyes like morning mist. "Turns out I have anger management problems."
The break in tension made Sean dizzy, and that smile was infectious, and for a moment they were just smiling at each other.
But as Beecher stepped back he turned wistful. "Loyalty to my father only went so far. After Chris tried to-" His mouth snapped shut, another sudden turn. "Who says I deserve better than pushing carts?"
Sean rarely thought of the prisoners after they left, except to sometimes wonder how soon he'd see them come through the gates again. He knew it was hard getting back out into the world, but he'd rarely put much thought into it. If Tobias Beecher, with his brain and his family and his years of experience being a useful human being couldn't do it, Sean had to wonder how anyone held any hope for the rest of them.
"Look. Beecher. I don't know everything that went on in there. I don't know all the shit you pulled, or everything that happened to you. But you did your time, and with all the shit you went through, you more than paid for what you did to that little girl. I don't know what you deserve, but it don't help nobody that you're wasting your brain and what's left of your soul pushing carts around a parking lot."
Beecher stared at him, and Sean braced himself for anger or laughter or whatever crazy turn was coming next, but all he said was, "I want to show you something."
"What?"
"Just... follow me." Beecher looked around and got behind his train of carts, Sean trailing after the racket of crooked wheels on asphalt back to the storefront. Beecher stowed them and muttered, "This way," leading him around the side of the building.
Sean's head cracked against a pallet of discount coffee as Beecher's burning mouth slid over his cock. Jesus Christ, the guy knew just what he was doing, playing the soft underside of the head like it was a goddamn instrument, fingers rolling and tugging Sean's balls like he'd done his fancy ivy league law degree with a minor in getting Sean Murphy off.
There was nothing but a forklift between them and any grocery clerk who might wander into the loading dock to find their cart-collecting guy on his knees, hand working himself under his apron as he blew his ex-CO, store uniform hat laid neatly on the floor beside him. Later Sean was going to find this horrifying or hilarious but right now it was his needy cock in a greedy mouth and Tim with a promise of love everlasting couldn't have swayed Sean to raise his pants.
Sweet suction dragged a groan out of him, and suddenly that mouth was gone. "Shut the fuck up, I need this job."
And so Sean choked back everything that tried to escape when Beecher dragged a wet tongue from his balls to the tip of his cock and started in with grazing teeth, teasing him until Sean felt his balls tighten and then dancing away to nibble at Sean's thighs like they had no reason to rush. "Fuck. Jesus. Please."
Sean slid his fingers into Beecher's sweaty hat-hair, just a little pressure, just asking and Beecher came back, closed his teeth an inch behind the head and waited. Fuck knew if it was a tease or a threat and Sean's cock didn't much care.
It took everything Sean's upper brain had to still his hips and let go of Beecher's head, hook his fingers into the plastic wrapped around the pallet behind him. He had his cock in a shark's mouth, and what a twisted fuck he was that it only made him harder.
Suction, incredible suction and Sean was growling, begging for more or just the same. His cock sliding wet from those lips and disappearing back inside, deeper and deeper until there was nowhere left to go and Sean could feel Beecher's throat swallow around him and he threw back his head, fighting to hold on.
A sharp pinch jerked him back to see dangerous eyes flashing, and Sean realised how loud he'd been, whispered a "Sorry," and jammed his teeth shut.
Didn't make a sound as Beecher swallowed again or when he slid back, wrapping a tight grip around the base, the better to enjoy the head. Beecher sucked cock like it was the only thing in the world, like his very survival depended on how hard you blew your load.
"I'm coming, fuck-"
But Beecher just went harder, sucking the come out of him as Sean's whole body clenched and let go with a groan dragged all the way from his balls.
Beecher stayed where he was, spitting Sean's wad on the floor beside them and then suckling him as he softened, licking him clean until Sean's knees were trembling, and spitting again he climbed to his feet, tongue flicking over his lips. "You'd never survive getting fucked in prison. You squeal like a stuck pig."
It was some kind of miracle Sean could blush after that, but his face burned. He bent down for the pants sagging over his shoes, trying not to look around at the filthy mop buckets and flickering fluorescents and faded theft prevention checklist on the wall. This didn't feel like the good kind of dirty, anymore. He eyed the white puddle where Beecher had been kneeling, the blobs of creamy spit beside it, and Beecher shrugged, rubbed both in with his shoe. "There are worse things on this floor."
Great. Sean tightened his belt and lingered, wondering how the hell he was supposed to make a polite exit from this situation, but Beecher just scowled at him.
"Are you waiting for a kiss? Fuck off."
Great. He shuffled towards the propped-open emergency exit, paused again when he reached it. "What about that school teacher? She a lie, too?"
Beecher snorted and shook his head. "Believe it or not, most women's idea of Mr Right isn't an ex-con widower with a swastika on his ass and a boyfriend in the joint."
"You made her up?"
"I thought it was what Chris needed to hear." There was an odd note in his voice, more to the story that he wasn't about to share with a hack.
Which... good. Sean didn't need to be playing the role of Sister Pete here. He'd got a hell of a lot more than he'd bargained for, anyway. He pushed out the door into the grimly floodlit parking lot, checked for witnesses and headed to his car.
-----
end 3/10