The Price - Part One, Beecher/O'Reily, NC17

[breakingparole]

Title: The Price
Beta: ozsaur , my hero and shit
Pairing: Tobias Beecher/Ryan O'Reily
Rating: NC17
Categories: First Time, Angst, Drama
Warnings: Discussion of NonCon and Rape
Spoilers: The First Season, Through Capital P
Synopsis: Beecher and O'Reily strike a bargain that ends up helping them both deal with the pressures of their first harsh year in Oz.
Word Count: 12,620
Disclaimer: Don't own' em - not making any money off 'em. Dern it.
Notes: Written for callmeri for Oz Magi 2008. Originally posted on January 2, 2009. Divided into two parts due to length.

My prompts:
Pairing: Beecher/O'Reily
Prompt Phrase: I'd do anything for you / Just you ask me and it's done / But everything has its price (Suicidal Tendencies)
Canon/AU/Either: Canon
Special Requests: A little smut would be awesome, but if you don't want to go there, just go wherever inspiration takes you. :)

(This entry has been post-dated for archive purposes.  It was originally posted on January 2, 2009.)

The Price, Part One

Beecher watched the biker negotiate with Ryan, his head buzzing slightly from the couple of hits he'd already had - just a gentle floating sensation, like putting his mind on hold for a minute while he conferred with a consultant on the other line. He grinned at that and Ryan grinned back at him for a second before turning his attention back to the biker who frowned at both of them.

The biker wasn't getting anywhere with Ryan and Beecher didn't wonder why: Ryan had already turned down the guy three times this month that Toby knew about. He was always waiting for money from his folks. The check was in the mail. Of course it was. But that didn't work for Ryan. He wanted his money up front, and he never gave anyone credit. Nothing was free with Ryan. Everything had a price.

Ryan was back. "Hey Beecher. Here. Hold on to this for me, okay? I gotta take care of this, I'll be right back." He handed off the still smoldering joint to Toby, who immediately stuck the end in his mouth and inhaled deeply. Ryan turned back at the door and pointed his finger at Toby. "Don't smoke it all, Bogart."

Toby snorted, blowing smoke out his nose. "Guess you'd better hurry back then."

Ryan gave him the finger and took off, leaving Toby alone in the pod for the first time. It felt weird. He and Ryan had been getting high here for a while now, but he'd never been in the pod without Ryan there. He stubbed the joint out and sat down on Ryan's bunk, feeling awkward. The pod was an odd size and having so many bunks in it made it even stranger to Toby. He wished he could share a two-man pod with Ryan. That would be cool.

Cool? Did he just think cool? He suddenly felt like he was in High School again. He could just see Ryan smoking in the bathroom between classes, selling the jocks joints out of his locker, giving wedgies in the locker room and getting into fights after school. And he could see himself, in his school uniform, captain of the Debate Team, getting wedgies in his own school locker room. They wouldn't have been friends, they would never have even met. Ryan would never have been accepted into an expensive private institution like Dwight Preparatory High School.

Everything has its price. The thought floated back into his head, attached to nothing that Toby could think of. But suddenly it raised all sorts of thoughts and ideas none of which really made sense to him. What price am I paying?

Ryan walked back into the room just then and Toby stood up. 'Hey, you're back. Everything okay?' He felt nervous all a sudden for no reason he could pin down, but awkward and gangly, like he was that 16 year old teenager he was just imagining a moment ago.

He felt better when Ryan lit up the joint he took out of Toby's hand and realized Ryan was as cool and relaxed as usual. If Ryan wasn't acting any differently, there was no reason for him to. He stuffed his insecurities back in the box labeled High School Hell and slammed the lid shut, took a drag when it was offered to him, and slid down the wall to sit on the floor next to Ryan.

Later that night, when Schillinger was through with him and had patted him on the ass before climbing back up to his own bunk, Toby curled up under the worn sheets and thin, scratchy blanket and shivered, thinking about freedom and prices and who paid them and when they came due. He wondered if there ever came a time when you'd paid enough.

Toby sat on the bunk, staring at the wall, the wad of paper sitting in his gut making his stomach turn. He grimaced, feeling just a bit more of his humanity slip away, and maybe some of his sanity with it. He wasn't feeling very sane at the moment. He wanted to rage against the injustice of it all, from the fact that the hacks had set Keane up as a gladiator for their amusement to Keane's rejection of his offer of help.

But most of all he wanted to rage against his own cowardice. He didn't even try to fight Schillinger, not really. Even after all the time he'd spent studying those dusty law books and bitterly hating the fact that there seemed to be a never-ending supply of them, finish one and the next one was right there waiting for you to trip over it, he still had never had the urge to destroy one. To him, they *were* the law. You didn't rip the pages out of one just because you could.

But Schillinger had shoved those pages down his throat and he had taken them. The same way he took Schillinger's cock: down his throat, or up his ass, it was all the same. He did what he was told. Open wide. Be a good boy and swallow. Roll over and take it. And he did. What did that make him? Besides Schillinger's prag, that is? He used to have an identity apart from Vern Schillinger. Son, Brother, Husband, Father, Lawyer. He used to be somebody.

Not anymore. There was nothing left. Nothing but Schillinger's Prag. And there was nothing left inside him with which to rage. He searched for it, a sense of heat, of fire, some sense of outrage against a horrible fate that no one should ever be forced to endure. But it wasn't there. There was nothing there. Nothing but a cold lump of paper sitting in his gut, paper and ink and Beecher's whole past life sitting there dissolving into pulp as his life faded away into nothing. Nothing left of him. Nothing left.

The door to Toby's pod opened. He didn't even turn around to see who it was. It seems his sense of self-preservation had disappeared along with his pride. He recognized O'Reily's voice as he sat down behind Toby and started to talk. It didn't matter. Not much did.

"Heard you talked to Keane even though I said don’t."

"Yep."

"That took some balls. Starting to grow some balls, Beecher?"

The humorous tone told Toby that Ryan wasn't angry with him. That was good. At least his one source of relief from this horrible place wasn't going to cut him off. He realized he'd have missed Ryan if he'd pulled away from Toby over this. He liked Ryan's attitude. He didn't take shit from anyone. Good for him. Now Ryan? Ryan had balls.

"I had balls a long, long time ago. And I thought I could get ‘em back by saving Jefferson Keane. But the lawyer in me got stretched out on the rack and hung by the neck until dead."

Actually, now that he thought about it, there was one thing Toby could do that ole Vern didn't have any control over, one thing that pissed him off to no end, and right now that was a very good thing. Besides, it would take Toby's mind off his own amazingly ball-less state. Maybe give him a momentary escape from the miserable existence that was now his life. "You got any dope?"

He could hear the grin in Ryan's voice as he spoke. For some reason, it sent a shiver down Toby's spine. "What you need, pal, is an upgrade. What you need is some heroin." Ryan's hand came up from behind him, over his shoulder.

When he glanced over, he could see the white powder on the back of Ryan's hand. Sitting there, a clean, white temptation. Waiting for Toby like Ryan had always known it would come to this. Another step down the rabbit hole. No, more like a slide with no way to stop and no way of knowing what was at the bottom. Except relief. Relief from what his life had become. Prag. His whole existence summed up in one four-letter word.

"Go ahead." Ryan's voice was low, smooth and Beecher took one last second to think about what he was about to do then he leaned down to Ryan's hand and sniffed. It was familiar, he'd done coke before, he knew what to do. But the feeling was different. Wow. Quite different. And there it was. That sense of relief. No, release. Better. Much better.

It reminded him of how he felt when he hit the stretch on the outside, the point when he'd had just enough drinks to make everything recede into the background: the pressure of work with its constant concern of staying ahead of the next new, bright-young-thing fresh out of law school, the tensions of dealing with Gen's worry about keeping up with their friends ñ a new pool, the latest technological wonderstove, designer clothes, private schools, the pressure of never being enough for his father, never good enough or smart enough or fast enough.

This was the feeling, when he hit his stride, when all the bullshit slipped behind the gin bottle and he couldn't see it, or hear it in his head, or if he did, it didn't seem to bother him any more. It was like welcoming an old friend home. Welcome back. I've missed you. He felt more than saw Ryan lick the residue off his own hand. Yeah. Good idea. Don't want to waste it. This is the good stuff. He was gonna need more of this.

He wondered briefly why Ryan had been holding out on him. This was a thousand times better than just a joint. This was what he'd needed all along. His whole body felt heavy and languid, so he let himself fall back across the bed, landing with a thud next to Ryan's thigh. Toby stared up at him, as he tilted one eye critically in Toby's direction. Toby smiled. Yeah, this was the stuff. This and Ryan were all he needed to make it through this hellhole.

He wondered briefly what Ryan really wanted from him, but he couldn't keep the thought in his head. He decided he'd worry about that later. Right now, he was just going to enjoy the moment. He'd earned it.

Ryan grinned at him, "That's more like it."

And Ryan was right. It was.

Toby glanced around carefully before entering Ryan's pod. There'd been a couple of bikers watching him earlier and he didn't want anyone knowing what he was up to. O'Reily glanced at him as Toby crossed over to him, then turned away, tucking something under the waistband of his pants before turning back in Toby's direction.

"Hey Beecher. Bad timing, man. I'm outta here. Got to meet a guy about - well, you know - stuff. I'll be back in about an hour."

"Damn. That's when Schillinger is due back. If I don't get high now, I won't get another chance tonight, Vern has something ‘special’ planned. He won't tell me what, but I know for sure I don't want to face it sober."

Ryan reached into a pocket and pulled out a vial. "Here. There's only two or three hits left in it, will this do you?"

Toby snatched it out of the air when O'Reily tossed it his direction. "You are a life saver, Ryan. Thanks. I'll figure out a way to pay you back for this. Maybe if I give my money to Sister Pete, I can keep it out of Schillinger's hands long enough to do something with it myself. I don't know. Since he found my last hiding place, I've been totally broke all the time."

"Yeah, well, I don't know if the good Sister is the way to go. What do you tell her when you need to buy drugs? ëSister, gimme some cash, I need a new pair of tits.'" Ryan grinned as he put one foot on his bunk to tie his shoe. "Yeah, that's gonna go over well."

"Good point. But I don't know what else to do. It's not like I have anything else of market value. I could sell my clothes, but eventually someone would notice."

They both got a snort of laughter out of that image. Ryan straightened up, and stepped away from the bunk. "I gotta go, Beecher. I know you've got plenty of marketable skills. We can work something out. Don't worry about it, okay?"

Beecher thought about that as Ryan walked away, slowly following him back out to the tv area. He watched as Hanley met O'Reily at the gate and ushered him through, wondering briefly what he was up to. He was really better off not knowing, he realized after a moment. Toby knew Ryan, the guy that got high with him and traded crazy stories about who'd fucked whom in high school and how much trouble they'd gotten into.

But O'Reily was someone different. He was dangerous and deadly, just like Oz, and although Toby felt comfortable and even a little bit safe around Ryan, he knew that O'Reily never let his guard down and he'd do whatever he had to do no matter the cost to anyone else. He was lucky to see the relaxed side of Ryan, but he knew he should never totally trust him. He'd seen what O'Reily was capable of. He shook his head as he headed up the stairs to his pod. What the hell did he have that Ryan O'Reily could possibly want? He didn't have anything left. There was nothing left of him at all.

Toby waited for Schillinger by the half-wall that separated the showers from the sinks, nervous over the group of Homeboys who were just finishing up their showers. They'd been laughing and joking about the hos they'd known, fucked or pimped out when they'd been on the outside, getting rowdier all the time, and Toby was getting worried. He'd seen the looks he was getting, and he'd been the butt of their pranks and jokes before. He was sure he'd be their next topic if Schillinger didn't show up soon.

He would have felt better if he'd been wearing something besides a towel, although he didn't really know what good that would have done. There were only two types here in Oz, the victims and the victors, and he knew it wouldn't change his status to be wearing clothes, but it didn't stop the way he felt. A pair of pants would have been nice about now. As they begin to shut off their showerheads and turn his direction he changed his mind. He'd rather have a bazooka than a pair of pants.

Toby thought about going back to the pod, but he and Schillinger had been interrupted as they were leaving for their "traditional" Sunday shower by a couple of members of the Brotherhood who'd needed to speak to Schillinger urgently. He'd sent Toby on to the shower and ordered him to wait there until Schillinger arrived.

Schillinger seemed to get some kind of perverse thrill out of raping Toby in the showers every Sunday after Toby got back from chapel. He called it their “Sunday morning outing” and Toby hated being on display like that almost as much as he hated Schillinger, but he wasn't about to do anything to get Vern mad at him right now. He'd been really ugly recently and Toby was doing everything in his power to keep Schillinger from taking his aggressions out on Toby yet again. Especially since he hadn't done anything to deserve it this time. Well, at least nothing Schillinger knew about, Toby thought with a well-hidden smirk.

So he wasn't about to leave the shower room despite the fact that he was about to be targeted by the Homeboys who were looking in his direction already. Adebisi was in the group and he had been a major problem for Toby ever since he'd foiled Adebisi's plan to prag him by moving in with Schillinger. He grinned wryly to himself; out of the frying pan into the fire, as the saying went.

"What you smillin' at, prag? You see somthin' you like?"

Toby looked up, startled. He'd made the ultimate mistake here in Oz: he'd not been paying attention to his surroundings, yet again. Adebisi was standing in front of him, towel in one hand as he stroked his half-hard cock with the other. He grinned at Toby as he slowly stepped forward, a sly, dangerous smile that threatened pain and suffering to anyone Adebisi singled out.

"You wanna piece of me, whore? You want my cock in your mouth? Or maybe you'd rather take it up your ass."

The rest of the homeboys egged him on, laughing and joking as they pulled on their clothes or wrapped their towels around their waists. Toby pressed his back against the cold cinder block wall, his bare flesh chilling into goose bumps as he realized there was no place to go. He was surrounded by three of Adebisi's boys and there was no hack to be seen, as usual.

Adebisi dropped his towel to the floor, reached out and pinched one of Toby's nipples sharply, making him gasp. Adebisi let go of the cock he'd been stroking and shoved those fingers in Toby's mouth, pulling his bottom jaw down and opening his mouth wide. Toby hit his head against the wall trying to move away as he fought to close his jaws, but Adebisi was strong and his struggles didn't help as Adebisi ran the fingers of his other hand over Toby's tongue.

"Mmmm. Nice mouth. I bet you're a good cocksucker, aren't you? Has Schillinger broken you in, right? I bet you can suck like a fifty dollar whore. You wanna suck my cock, whore?"

Toby was shaking his head, afraid to fight, panicked, wondering where Schillinger was. Why wasn't he stopping this? He hated it, but at this point, he'd welcome Schillinger, no matter what the humiliation he planned to visit on Toby. It would be better than being gang-banged. And he was sure that was what was about to happen.

Toby wondered if this was a set-up. Was Schillinger trying to get him raped? Did he want to get rid of Toby? Toby knew that Schillinger would never touch him again if Adebisi and his gang took him. In some ways that would be a relief, but he would be trading one man for another, or worse, being passed around by many. He'd never know a minute's peace if that happened. He held no delusions that he could protect himself against the hardened criminals of this place.

Adebisi's smile was ugly, and Toby felt his stomach clench in fear as Adebisi pulled his fingers out of Toby's mouth and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him down. "On your knees, whore."

"Get your filthy nigger hands off him." Toby looked frantically to the door, hating himself for the relief he felt when he saw Schillinger step into the shower room with half-a-dozen Aryans and bikers crowding in behind him. Adebisi looked over his shoulder, not letting go of Toby, and sneered at Schillinger as the homeboys crowded in to protect their leader.

"What the hell you care about one little whore? There are plenty of whores out there, what's so special about this one? Huh?"

Schillinger moved up a few more steps into the shower room, almost but not quite within reach of the homeboys. He should have looked ludicrous wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist, but backed by six bruisers he didn't seem to notice the ridiculousness of his situation.

"He may be a whore, but he's my whore, and I'm the only one who touches him. Now take your hands off my prag before my boys here have to hurt you."

Adebisi surveyed the room. They were outnumbered and with at least two of his crew wearing towels it looked like he could tell the fight wouldn't come out in their favor. He rubbed his thumb across Toby's bottom lip, patted him on the cheek, then let go of his shoulder, turning and spreading out his empty hands, motioning to Toby with a sweep of his arm.

"He's all yours, Schillinger. When you finally get tired of your whore, you send him my way. I bet I could make some good money pimping out that pretty little mouth of his." One of the homeboys handed Adebisi his towel and he wrapped it around his waist as Schillinger's men split down the middle giving the homeboys a clear path out the door.

Just then two hacks showed up after the fact, as usual. Schillinger motioned for two of his boys to wait outside the door while the rest moved back into the quad, but stuck close enough to keep an eye on things just in case.

Toby leaned up against the cold wall, shivering uncontrollably, his arms clenched around his body. He jerked away when Schillinger reached out a hand, but Schillinger just grabbed his jaw and looked into his eyes. "You're in shock. Get under the shower, that will warm you up." He pulled Toby over to the closest showerhead and turned on the water, then turned to toss both their towels on the half wall that divided the showers from the sinks.

When the water was hot Toby stepped under it gratefully, feeling the warmth seep into his skin. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to get the feel of Adebisi's thumb off his bottom lip. He jerked in surprise when Schillinger grabbed his arm and pulled him around. Schillinger studied his face for a moment, frowning.

"Where did he touch you?"

Toby blinked. "What?" He could feel his heart still racing, and he hadn't stopped shivering yet; it was hard for him to concentrate on Schillinger's words.

"Where did that nigger touch you? I want you to scrub yourself clean. Scrub hard. Wash every part of you he touched, and then wash it again. I don't want to touch you until you're clean again."

Toby felt a sudden urge to laugh hysterically at that, but kept it in by sheer force of will. Now was not the time to argue with Schillinger. He took the washcloth and soap Schillinger handed him and started lathering up the cloth, concentrating hard to keep the laughter from bursting out. Schillinger had raped him continuously for months, but suddenly he was unclean?

He washed himself vigorously, scrubbing the skin until it was red. Schillinger watched him closely and when Toby was though, Schillinger asked again. "Where did he touch you? Did you get everything?"

Toby nodded, struggling to remember. "Yes. I think so. He grabbed me by the arms, then put his hands on my shoulders. Then my face. I'm pretty sure that's it."

Schillinger didn't sound to happy with that. "Pretty sure?"

"No.” Toby rushed to reasure him. “I'm sure. That's it. That's all I remember."

Schillinger nodded. "Good. Now, up against the wall. I'm gonna make sure everyone sees that I own what Adebisi wants and is never gonna have. Did you lube yourself up? I'm gonna be pretty pissed if you end up bleeding again. I won't tolerate that Haitian bitch lecturing me on the proper way to fuck my own prag again - "

Toby interrupted as politely as he could, knowing every time Schillinger got going on Dr. Nathan he got madder and madder until it was worse than if he'd not prepared himself at all. "No, I'm all set, sir. I'm ready."

Schillinger shoved him against the wall. "Good. Spread your legs and shut the fuck up."

Toby sat in his pod and stared out at the quad below. He saw O'Reily circling the room like a shark, never stopping for too long, always on the move, like his very life depended on it. And maybe it did. O'Reily eyed Schibetta and his goons warily from time to time, and Toby wondered what that was about.

He'd noticed it before, O'Reily going in to visit Schibetta, always dissatisfied when he came out, like he hadn't gotten what he'd wanted. Despite his cool demeanor, Toby could tell Ryan wasn't happy about how things were going. He was getting very tense these days, and it was all Toby could do to chill him out when they got high. And his brain, that brain never stopped working and Toby knew he never wanted to know what was going on in there. O'Reily could be ruthless when he needed to be.

He wondered if that was what he could do for Ryan. He always seemed like he was in a better mood when Toby left him than he was when Toby showed up. Maybe his contribution was giving Ryan a chance to relax, to not have to be constantly on alert. He had nothing to fear from Toby, that was certain.

Schillinger walked past Ryan, through Toby's line of sight and he shuddered, reminded of Schillinger's words. He threw the book in his hand across the room, watching dispassionately as it bounced off the wall, landing on the floor of the pod, its broken spine sticking up in the air like a wounded animal. That's right, O'Reily didn't have a thing to worry about from Toby. After all, he was just a prag, nothing but a whore. What could he possibly do to Ryan?

He saw Schillinger heading up the stairs and got up to get his book out of the corner. He'd rather be standing when he faced Schillinger, he hated having to look up at that bastard. It made him feel like a child facing his father. Yes sir. No sir. I'll be glad to drop my pants for you, sir. Get down on my knees and suck you off? Of course, sir. Schillinger was a fucking sick, twisted animal, but Toby had no choice but to do as he said.

"Anything you want, sir." He muttered as he picked up his book and dropped it on his bunk. Then he turned around to face Schillinger. When he saw Schillinger's angry face, his first instinct was to run or hide, but there was nowhere to go, was there? Nowhere safe, not in this whole stinking prison. He steeled himself for the coming storm, wondering what had happened and how Schillinger was planning of blaming it on him.

Schillinger stormed into the room as Toby backed up against his bunk, instinctively getting as much room as he could between himself and the obviously incensed man in front of him. It happened so fast that Toby heard the crack of Schillinger's back hand across his face before he realized what was happening, before he even felt the blow that knocked him to the floor.

Schillinger grabbed his shirtfront and pulled, dragging him back upright, pushing him against the bunk again and shaking him roughly. "You think I wouldn't find out? Is that it? You think you can get away with lying to me like that?" Toby struggled to stay upright, grabbing onto the only solid thing in front of him, Schillinger's arms.

"No. What - " It was hard to think let alone talk, but he tried to sort out what Schillinger was saying. It made no sense to him at all.

"Did you really think that nigger wouldn't brag about having his fingers in your mouth? He's down there telling everyone he can about how good your tongue felt when you sucked on his filthy fingers. You lied to me, you fucking whore."

"I didn't! No! Sir, I forgot about that! I didn't suck on them, I tried to bite him, but he forced my jaw down. I swear, I didn't suck them. Sir, I didn't!' Toby was having trouble speaking with the way Schillinger kept shaking him, knocking him back against the bunk. But he tried his best to explain, suddenly terrified. He knew how angry Schillinger got when he thought Toby was lying to him, and he was furious right now. This was bad. Very bad.

"You didn't remember? What do you think I am, a fool? How could you forget something like that? He had his fingers in your mouth!" Schillinger had stopped shaking him at least, but his grip in Toby's t-shirt was so tight that the neck had ripped and Schillinger had to adjust his grip to keep Toby close.

Toby was trembling all over, but he forced himself to speak clearly, to make sure Schillinger understood everything he said. "I thought I was about to be gang raped. Adebisi holding my jaw open and sticking his finger in my mouth was a minor annoyance compared to what I was expecting to happen next. By the time you showed up I couldn't remember my name, let alone exactly what that bastard has done to me."

Schillinger let him loose with one more shove back into the bunk. Toby's mind whirled. The thought that he'd have a huge bruise across his back in the morning came practically out of nowhere, but he brushed it away. "When you asked me, I honestly told you everything I could think of. I didn't remember he'd done that until you reminded me just now."

He touched his aching jaw and discovered blood on his fingers. He staggered over to lean against the sink and wet down a washcloth to wipe the blood off his mouth and chin. Staring into the mirror Toby could see the discoloration already forming. Looked like his back wasn't the only thing that was going to be black and blue in the morning.

He worked his jaw, trying to see if there was any more damage. It felt like it was just going to be sore; he wouldn't need to go to the infirmary. That was good. Schillinger hated it when he went to the infirmary. Speak of the devil, Schillinger appeared in the mirror behind him as he held the cold cloth against his sore jaw and split lip.

"It doesn't matter." Schillinger's look was still dark.

Toby sighed. He should have known that wouldn't be enough. He turned around to face Schillinger. He didn't like to have his back to the man while he was in this mood. Schillinger grabbed the cloth from Toby, rapping his knuckles against Tony's jaw as he did, causing him to yelp in surprise.

Schillinger smirked at him, his eyes narrowing down in his pleasure at having someone on which to take out his anger. He reached around Toby to grab the soap off the sink, sticking the cloth under the cold water Toby had left running.

"I'm not sticking my cock in there until we've scrubbed every trace of that nigger's fingers out of your mouth." He started lathering up the cloth, then snorted and tossed it into the sink. He grabbed onto Toby's bottom jaw, much the way Adebisi had, sending another jolt of pain through Toby's face and then Schillinger grinned. "Open wide, Bitcher." He shoved the bar of soap into Toby's mouth and started scrubbing.

Toby spit the toothpaste out, and loaded his brush up again. He could still taste the bitter soap on his tongue and this was his third attempt at scrubbing the taste out of his mouth. He straightened up when he heard the door open, looking around to see Schillinger walking towards him.

"Who the hell said you could wash that soap out of your mouth? Spit that shit out right now before I decide you need another dose of bar soap."

Toby turned and spit, rinsing his mouth out with his hand under the faucet, his stomach in turmoil. Did Schillinger have more plans for him? He'd thought confining him to the pod was a little lenient for Schillinger, but he wasn't about to complain when Vern headed out while Toby was still coughing up soap bubbles.

He thought fast, grabbing the tube of toothpaste his mother had forced on him just last week. "Sorry, sir. It's antibacterial toothpaste. I thought it might be a good thing to do. In - in case I had any cuts in my mouth or anything." He trailed off at Schillinger's dark look and jumped when Vern grabbed the tube, examining it closely.

"Antibacterial, huh?" He played with the word, his tone mocking Toby's pronunciation the way Schillinger did when he wanted to make fun of Toby's upbringing or schooling. He threw the paste at the sink and walked back to his bunk. "That's not a bad idea. But next time, you wait and ask me before you wipe away your punishment like that."

Toby wasn't about to argue. "Sorry, sir. I didn't think about that. I was just concerned with making sure I was germ free. It won't happen again."

"Damn straight it won't. Because you're not ever going to lie to me again, are you?

"I promise, sir. I didn't mean to lie. I just didn't think about that. I swear."

"Shut up. I've heard enough of your sniveling. Here." He threw a thin green and white box at Toby, who scrambled to catch it, confused by what he saw.

"Sir?"

"I want you cleaned out by the time they call count, so you use that now while I'm out of the room. Follow the instructions and make sure you do it right. I had to buy this shit off one of those damned faggots and you know they put me through the ringer over it, so you better not screw this up. If you do I'm gonna be even more pissed at you than I am now and you just do not fuckin' want that, you understand me?

"And make sure you stretch yourself out real good, ëcause I'm not going to listen to that bitch tell me I can't put my hand wherever I want to put it. So you better make sure you're ready for me tonight, because this is one lesson you're never gonna forget."

Schillinger was out of the room before he could do more than gasp, although what Toby would have said to that he had no idea. He felt a chill come over him, his hands cold and numb. He could plead and beg; Schillinger liked that kind of thing. But it seldom, if ever, had the desired effect. He was better off not even trying. Once he had something in his mind, there was no budging Vern Schillinger. And if he'd gone to all this trouble, he obviously had his mind set.

Toby sat down heavily on his bunk as his last meal threatened to make a reappearance. He held it back with grim determination. Schillinger couldn't possibly mean what Toby thought he meant, could he? His numb fingers shook as he looked down at the box holding the enema kit, horror and revulsion running through him in waves. He tied to focus on the small print on the back of the box, but his eyes blurred and he blinked rapidly, trying to focus enough to read the instructions.

How could he expect Toby to just calmly prepare himself for ñ he couldn't say it, hell, he couldn't even think it. But he had no doubt that Schillinger would think of something worse than even this if Toby failed to follow his orders. He fumbled the box open and let the contents slip until the plastic nozzle slid out enough to cause Toby to shudder helplessly, dropping the whole thing to the floor.

He looked up at the loud laughter, muffled by the plexiglass, but not so much that he couldn't hear the chortled words Schillinger spoke, his eyes bright with malicious glee. "You might want to wash that before you use it, Sweetpea." He waved his fingers goodbye, then pulled them into a fist turning it this way and that, examining it from every angle before grinning at Toby and walking away

Toby felt a sob fighting to break free from his chest, and it took all his effort to not let it go. He wouldn't give Schillinger that satisfaction. His rage swelled up inside of him. He wanted to kick the enema box across the room, or just put his foot down and crush it and its contents.

But he couldn't. He knew that. He had no choice but to do what Schillinger wanted. Not doing it would be much, much worse; although how, he wasn't quite sure. But he knew Schillinger. He'd find a way, the bastard. He'd just have to deal with this the way he dealt with everything else Schillinger did to him. He'd survive. Somehow.

Continued in Part Two

~