The Ides of Oz Drabble Tree
The First Ever Oz Drabble Tree, The Return of Oz Drabble Tree, The Little Oz Drabble Tree That Could, Are You There God? It's Oz Drabble Tree, Oz Drabble Tree Knows Best, In Oz Drabble Tree, No One Can Hear You Scream, This Is An Emergency Oz Drabble Tree, Please, Sir, May I Have Another Oz Drabble Tree?, Leggo My Oz Drabble Tree, Come With Oz
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The kid had stopped believing in Santa some years ago, but whatever was under his bed, he’s quite sure was still real. “Cynical bastard,” Nino Schibetta smirked, as Petey climbed over him and into Angie’s arms. “It's a terrible world we live in, but things will be different for you,” he had thought then, giving the shaking figure a little pat.
In the life he had chosen, Nino should have been prepared to die alone. But with Angie gone, he could not stand the thought of his son leaving for that different life he would have been allowed to choose. So, Nino made sure of it, that his son followed in his footsteps.
Now, he can only imagine what his answers to his son’s pleas for forgiveness are. A hundred sixteen years it took to make the Schibetta name, and YOU’VE RUINED IT IN AN HOUR! Somewhere along those lines. “I didn’t mean to mess things up. I didn’t...Papa, I’m sorry...I’m sorry...” His cries grows more and more desperate.
Nino reaches for a pale, trembling hand, but it goes right through. “Peter, I’m sorry.”
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Adebisi gets closer to the body strapped to the bed. The leather roughed the white wrists and ankles up, made them all red and bruised. He must have given up the struggle against the bonds, but he's still trembling. There is little left of the mobster the boy had tried so hard to be.
I made that, Adebisi thinks as he traces the lines of the Italian's red lips with his thumb. I do and I undo.
He is not that poor man from Nigeria anymore. Here, Adebisi is a king.
A king does not live in huts. Fuck that.
Adebisi grabs a fist full of hair with one hand, the smooth jaw with his other and holds the head in place for a harsh kiss. Eyes stare up at him, wide with terror.
Yes, Adebisi grins. And fuck you, Lil' Nino. Soon enough.
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Sean hopped off his bike and sat down next to Timmy. Timmy hadn't looked this sad since last Christmas when he had stopped believing in Santa.
Sean draped his arm around Timmy's shoulders. "What's wrong?" he asked.
"I tried to convince the other kids that we should combine the boys' club with the girls' club. I tried to explain that there would be less fighting and more fun if we all played together. No one was interested."
"Aw, Timbo, it was a nice idea," Sean reassured him.
"Linda even called me a poophead."
Sean bristled. He mentally made a note to have a word with Linda later. "Don't listen to her. Don't listen to any of 'em. You and me are what matters."
"I just want to make the world a better place."
"Someday, Timmy, you will. And I'll be there by your side to help."
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Miguel held tightly to the shelves, his fingers white from the pressure. A hard thrust had him gasping for breath, and he bit his lip to keep from shouting. Keller pounded into him, vicious and perfect, spinning him off into a pleasure he’d never even dreamed existed. He widened his stance, offering himself, and Keller took everything Miguel had to offer. He shattered into a thousand pieces as he came, and Keller held him as he trembled, pulling him back together again. Keller sucked on his neck, marking him - proof of his ownership. But there was never any doubt.
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Keller sucked on his neck, marking him, before leaving him to clean up the mess they made in the supply room. Once upon a time Miguel Alvarez would've been horrified, disgusted, and outraged, by the idea of being labeled someone's prag, but when you have no one backing you up and it seems like all of Oz was eager to rip you to shreds, being labeled prag didn't seem so bad, especially when it was in association with a brutal, terrifying, not to mention hot, serial killer named Chris Keller. No one and I mean no one touched what belonged to Keller. Just ask Beecher. You certainly couldn't ask any of the poor dead losers who’d been unfortunate enough to fuck Beecher, when he and Keller were on the outs. And if some of the inmates contemplated taking out Keller, just so they could lay into Miguel, well they'd have to contend with Beecher, and nobody wanted to piss off the unpredictable psychotic madman Beecher was known to turn into on occasion, because for one, every inmate in Oz liked their dicks...intact...and second, no one wanted to eat shit, literally, at least not anytime soon. Now, the inmates of Oz are sure to give Alvarez a wide berth as he passes them by. He boldly shows off Keller's work, a clear reminder he's still hands-off, look-but-don't-touch, property of Keller. Sure they still glare daggers at him and call him prag and bitch and other colorful names. Miguel just smirks when he hears a low growl come from nearby, sending the inmates scurrying to the far corners like roaches.
"Ready for some grub?" Beecher asks.
"Yeah, worked up quite an appetite," Miguel replies, slightly out of breath.
"Tell me about it," Keller quips.
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They say the devil’s work is never done. Keller’s work is also never-ending. It’s hard work keeping Toby. It was hard enough getting him back, but keeping him has proven increasingly tough. He insists on wanting to do what’s good, like trying to forgive good old Vern. He sluts around the while prison when Chris is all he should need. His instance on punishing himself leads to pushing Chris away then pulling him closer the next second. Yes, its hard work but it’s worth it. When he’s pushing deeper inside Toby’s body and feels his eyes on him it's worth it. When he feels he’s loved beyond all reason it’s worth it. And he is.
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