YAYZ!!
http://www.sbs.com.au/whatson/index.php3?tvsch=1
And to celebrate, here's a new fic.
Rating: PG this chapter. But it hots up as it goes along.
Warning: Abduction and rape are further down the track (but not in the way you might be thinking). This one's a little darker than other stuff I've written.
Disclaimer: Keller, Beecher, Schillinger et al are the property of Tom Fontana. The plot alone is mine.
Thanks and love and hugs and anti-headache vibes to Rifka.
It was late on a Friday afternoon in the middle of spring. The Kellers’ lawyers were wrapping up the final details of the divorce settlement as their clients sat beside them, facing each other across the varnished teak table. Wanting to get through this quickly, Chris and Angelique kept their mouths shut as the attorneys thrashed it out between themselves. The sound of peak-hour traffic filtered dimly in as documents were shuffled back and forth between the suits.
Chris was beyond bored. He had done this four times already with three different women, and the only novelty left was how quickly it had crashed and burned this time. The last time he’d married Angelique it had lasted nineteen months. This time, barely six. It had been a bad idea from the start. But at the time Chris had been desperate to escape what seemed like an inevitable fate - a life marked with shame and violence, humiliating secrets protected by unspeakable acts. He had convinced himself that his only option was another reckless stab at matrimony. Angie was one of the most possessive women Chris had ever met; if she couldn’t keep him committed to the heterosexual ideal he was truly a doomed soul.
Now, as the unregistered drone of the lawyers’ voices buzzed in his ears, he wondered what he’d been so terrified of.
Trying to alleviate some of his boredom, he turned his attention to the nattily-attired pair as they crawled slowly towards consensus. They were both expensive, way beyond what either Chris or Angelique could normally afford. But the female lawyer - Katherine McClain - had taken Angie on as part of her pro bono caseload, and Chris had recently scored big on an especially profitable ponzi. He had made enough money for a retainer and a few monthly payments, but secretly he knew he would never settle the outstanding bill to his own lawyer - Beecher, the guy’s name was, his first name something biblical Chris could never be bothered to remember.
He concentrated on McClain. She was pretty, a neat little figure with killer legs which Chris had admired more than once, sneaking looks at them beneath the hem of her short skirts. It hadn’t been desire that encouraged his covert voyeurism, but the desire for desire - the hope that there were some last, lingering traces of heterosexuality in his system, enough to distract him for a while from the path he was now certain his life would take. But he had to admit, checking out the shape of her small, round breasts beneath her white starched shirt, he felt more like an art connoisseur admiring a Ruebens than a horndog on the prowl. Instead of saving him, it appeared his last fling at marriage had purged him of those desires for good.
Fuck it.
He shifted his attention to his own attorney. The guy looked nice enough, Chris thought, with his reddish-blond hair and blue eyes, but not really Chris’s type. Admittedly the conservative outfit and owlish glasses weren’t particularly flattering, but even without them Chris thought Beecher would be a little too soft-looking. Chris was sure his flesh would be doughy from a lifetime of easy living. Also, he had a ball-shaped head, and his mouth was too shapeless, the lips too thin. Chris preferred a mouth that could pout. And no fully-grown man should have a nose like that. Nice skin, though… creamy. Glancing at Angie, Chris had a brief flash of Beecher throwing her down on the polished teak and ravishing her amongst the scattered documents until she squealed in ecstasy. To his own surprise, Chris popped a boner.
Without showing it, he started to focus his attention more on the man sitting beside him.
McClain and Beecher had everything wrapped up in another ten minutes. Plenty of time for Chris to bring the bulge in his pants back under control. When he stood to shake hands with Angie there was no visible trace of the desire that had ripped through him just a short while ago. After the women had left - the office belonged to Beecher & Partners - Chris flashed a smile that might have been grateful relief that the ordeal was over. Might have, if Chris didn’t know from years of practice the sort of effect this smile could have.
“I owe you,” he said with expertly-faked sincerity. “I thought she’d have my balls on a silver platter this time.”
Beecher shrugged, his veneer of professional objectivity undisturbed, his attitude friendly efficiency. “I told you, you didn’t have anything to worry about. No assets she could legitimately claim, few possessions, no recorded income, no kids, and she never supported you financially. It was really kind of a no-brainer.”
“She didn’t get my bike, though, and that’s all I care about.” He stretched, knowing how his tight T-shirt showed off his muscle definition. “Hey, it’s Friday, let’s celebrate. I’ll buy you a drink.”
Beecher paused. Chris thought he saw a flicker in the lawyer’s eyes, an awareness that the other man was crossing some boundary. Chris was pleased; buttoned-down or not, Beecher had played this game before.
Beecher gave a smile that was still professionally objective and efficient, but a little of the friendliness had gone. Did he think his white-trash client was taking a liberty? “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I don’t drink.”
Chris kept his tone casual, hiding his resentment. “On the wagon, huh?”
Beecher relaxed a little and his smile became more open. “A condition of my not getting a divorce,” he explained.
Chris thought of pressing it, decided this wasn’t the time. He had the guy’s card. Beecher understood what was being offered; better to give him some time to mull it over. Maybe in another week Chris would call with some pseudo-legal bullshit and ask for assistance, they could arrange a meeting… if Chris didn’t find a more stimulating challenge in the meantime, that is. They stood and Chris offered his hand.
“Thanks again,” he said, wishing he’d remembered the guy’s first name so he could use it here, inject a little more intimacy. Beecher shook his hand, said what Chris assumed was the usual concluding crap, and the next thing Chris knew he was on the street, newly single once more.
Sitting astride his bike, he paused for a moment, wondering what to do with himself. There was a gay bar on this side of town, one that was popular with the college crowd. He was past college age himself, but he was sure he could find a willing body or two there… Too willing. That was the problem. What he really wanted was someone he’d have to pursue, seduce, someone who’d make him want it by keeping it from him, someone who’d really test his powers of persuasion. Someone like the creamy-skinned, buttoned-down blond lawyer he’d just left.
He took his wallet out of his back pocket and removed a business card from the billfold. Staring at the bold refined script, he quickly scanned the names listed down the right-hand side of the card, most of them Beechers. Harrison… no, that didn’t sound biblical. Angus wasn’t right, either. Then he saw it.
Tobias. Tobias Beecher.
Chris stared a second longer, memorizing it. Then he replaced the card in his wallet, his wallet in his rear pocket, and started his engine.
Glancing once more at the four-story building that housed Beecher & Partners, he pulled out and took off downtown, gunning his engine for the noise it would make.