Ok... Umm... I have no clue if this makes any sense...
But it's fic time. This is set during season 5 of the show, so there are spoilers for the series, but I think that's to be expected. Maybe it'll hook some people into watching Oz. Like I said in my entry title thing, I don't know if it makes any sense. I hope I was able to capture the show and their personalities well enough. I don't know if I'm gonna write any more of this, but I'll admit, I wouldn't mind doing more. Maybe work Cody and Teddy in there, too. Somehow. And bring Keller back. Anyway, enough of my blabbing, to the fic. Which may not make any sense what so ever and may be a complete piece of shit. I tried to make the sex happen as naturally as possible, but if you don't think it worked well, just tell me... I'm not too sure about it, myself... But whatever... Sorry if it's shit...
Prisoner #02P437, Randal Keith Orton, twenty-one years old, convicted March 19, 2002 for assault and battery with a deadly weapon. His home for the next several years would now be the Oswald State Correctional Facility (Level 4), more specifically, Emerald City.
“Beecher,” Officer Howell bellowed, though Toby was standing two feet away from her, “get your ass over here. This is Randal Orton. Randal, this is your sponsor, Tobias Beecher.”
Tobias extended his hand in greeting, but Randy was having none of it. His eyes were piercing; he was not about to shake the hand of a man he didn’t know, and, from giving him a full look over, didn’t like.
Randy trailed behind Beecher, keeping his pace slow and steady as they drew ever closer to Em City. Finally, they reached their destination. He let himself absorb the atmosphere, let himself feel the tension and the hatred in the air. He looked around, seeing the glass doors, two floors of it. He looked up and saw the guard station. He could feel the eyes upon him as he made his way through. He heard Beecher say, “Our pod is this way.”
“Wonderful,” was the first word Randy spoke since he arrived in Oz. With his prison issue sheets and toilet paper, he followed Beecher into their pod. He noticed the top bunk had sheets on it already. Oh, that was even better. He was 6’ 5”, locked up in some shit hole with this pussy bitch and he was stuck on the bottom bunk. Fucking great.
Once he made his bed, he stepped out of the pod, Beecher behind him. Again, his eyes grazed over the bodies and stopped dead on one man playing cards wearing a baseball cap, a white tank top and jeans.
Beecher noticed where the new inmate’s gaze had stopped. “Randal, you-”
“Randy,” he told him. “It’s Randy.”
“Ok, Randy, you don’t wanna fuck with the Italians. They’re out for revenge right now for the Latinos and Homeboys taking over the drug trade, and they don’t care who gets in their way.”
“Like I give a shit. Who’s he?”
“There you have Peter Schibetta, he just got released from the psych ward, Chucky Pancamo and John Cena.”
“Who’s the guy in the hat?”
“John,” Toby answered.
Randy started walking towards the table, figuring it was time he started to make connections in this joint. “Deal me in next round,” a very confident Randy said, looking directly at John.
“Can I help you?” John asked with a heavy accent, eyeing Randy up and down, noticing the tribal tattoos covering his arms, his boyish charms and his large stature.
“Yeah, deal me in,” he said again, pulling up a chair for himself.
The men at the table finished up this round their card game as John kept an eye on Randy sitting next to him. “So, you’re the new guy here. You’re awful cocky for being the new guy.”
A smirk appeared on Randy’s face as he answered, “Can’t help that. What’s that they say? It’s in the genes.”
“Guess so. Name’s John,” he said, passing a card to Randy.
“Randy.”
“Well, Randy, you know how to play pinochle?”
“No fuckin clue.”
Tim McManus, the man whose brain child was Em City, watched from above as his newest inmate approached the Italians and was accepted. He was happy to see people, what would he call it, bonding? But this new alliance was potentially dangerous. The Italians already had brains and brawn, and this new addition could mean trouble. Although Randy had been brought in as one of “The Others,” most of them were no great threat to anyone, not involved in the drug trade, only Keller was of potential danger, but he was sent to a Mass prison after confessing to put out a hit on Vern Schillinger’s son, Hank. This Orton person, seeing how easily and confidently he walked up to one of the most respected gangs in all of Oz, could just as easily open himself to the Irish, Aryans and Bikers. He would just have to wait and see.
Randy even sat with them at dinner. He talked very little, and they avoided talking about anything “business related” around him, so their conversations were very limited. He did, however, find out that John was originally from Boston, ended up in New York and then here. John didn’t tell him what he did to get himself locked up, said that was for another time.
As John spoke to Randy he looked into his eyes, trying to read him. No fear, there was no fear in his eyes. In fact, there was nothing in his eyes. Nothing but his cocky confidence, which was all that shone through his icy blue eyes. He had a wall built up around him, and if John’s assumptions were correct, then this wall was up there long before he was arrested in the first place. Yeah, he wouldn’t be anyone’s prag. John figured that he and Randy would get on just fine.
Directly after dinner they all headed back to Em City, whereupon the guards said it was time to get in their pods for the night. Now that was the last thing Randy needed at the moment: to spend five hours locked up in his pod until lights out.
He watched as Toby stepped up onto the top bunk before sitting down, rather uncomfortably, on his own bunk. “So, why don’t you tell me all about yourself, Randy?” Toby asked, reclining against the back wall.
“Not much to tell,” he replied.
“You’re pretty young.”
“Your point?”
“I used to be a lawyer, you know. Until one day, one fucking mistake, and I landed myself here. Some people say I was crazy, you know.”
Randy raised an eyebrow then stood up so he could look at Beecher as they talked. “Oh, yeah?”
Toby turned his head to face Randy as a grin rose on his face, “Yeah. I can see how you are. You want to be the new tough guy in town, you don’t want to let anyone get inside you,” he said, poking Randy in the chest. He shook his head as he continued, “You should have seen me when I first showed up here. I was scared shitless; I tried to fit in, I wanted to fit in, but I couldn’t. I was everyone’s prag. Nah, I knew you wouldn’t try any of that shit with me, but if you were here five years ago, you coulda had a piece of me, too. My second night here my pod mate burned a Swastika into my ass and then he fucked me.”
“Why are you even bothering to tell me all this?” Randy asked, even though he was engrossed in this conversation, one sided as it was.
“I know you think I’m a little bitch; I’ve been around here long enough to know what the new guys think of me. And I know earlier you didn’t listen to me, but I’ve gotten to know this place and the people inside its walls. You get tied up with John and the rest of them, you’ll get yourself in deep. When I was still Vern’s prag I got hooked on heroin. One day… One day I snapped; I threw a chair into his pod, sending glass into his eye. Then I shit in his face. I also bit off someone’s dick.”
Instinctively, Randy’s hands covered his crotch as he added, “That’s some sick shit.”
“Next thing I know,” Toby continued, “I’m falling in love with Chris Keller, who turns around and breaks all my bones with the help of his ol’ pal Verny. And then, would you believe it, I fell in love with him again. We fucked in your bunk.”
Randy closed his eyes, not wanting to picture two men fucking in the place he was going to be sleeping for God knows how long. “Shit, where the hell is this all going?”
“Do you know how long it took me to fall for Chris?”
“No, how long?” Randy played along.
“I was head over heels for him within a week of his arrival. Hell, if I’m totally honest with myself, it was as soon as we laid eyes on each other.”
“What the fuck is your point?”
“Don’t let yourself get in too deep.” And with that, Toby reached over to the shelf on the wall near his bed and pulled off a book. He settled down with it, even though he could feel Randy’s cold and confused stare on him.
As Randy lay in bed that night, his first night in prison, he thought about all the things Toby had told him. He thought about all the things Toby went through when he arrived in Oz, about how Toby had been put through hell and back, about what Toby told him what happened between himself and Chris. What had he meant by ‘Don’t let yourself get in too deep’? In too deep with the Italians because of the drug trade, or was he suggesting something with John? He did bring up his past addiction to heroin, after all. But he also brought up this Keller guy. Apparently they had been in this pod together, so where was Keller now? How the hell did he end up stuck in here with this nut job? He bit off someone’s dick, that alone should be worthy of solitary confinement. Needless to say, Randy didn’t sleep very well that night.
That morning, the lights flashed on and Randy was woken from his drowsy state at the guard’s yell of “COUNT!”
Day two had begun.
When Randy stepped out of his pod, he looked around at all the inmates lined up on both floors of the prison. He would need to breech out today, try and extend his connections, try and make his stay here as easy on him as possible. But, before that, it was time to talk with John again, because, dammit, was gonna learn pinochle if it killed him.
They were in the middle of the game when Chucky Pancamo pulled up a chair and sat down next to John. “We got a shipment coming today. We need you to be at your best, not distracted by this guy,” he added with a nod of his head in Randy’s direction.
“Who the fuck are you calling a distraction? If anything I can only benefit you.”
“Yeah, right, Orton. You do know we don’t do the drugs; we just sell ‘em.”
Randy stood up from his chair, sending it flying backwards. “You fuck! Do you really think I fucking-”
John stood up and covered Randy’s mouth with his hand, preventing him from doing any more shouting. “Shit, just shut up! You, too, Chucky.” A guard walked over to them, but before he said anything, John said, “Everything’s ok over here. Move along.” Once he was finally out of range of hearing them, he sat back down and gestured for Randy to sit as well. He then continued, “You know, he could help us.”
Chucky turned his attention to John, a stunned look upon his face, “What, you mean you want this punk to get in on our action? He hasn’t even been here a full day and you’re already letting him in? I told you he was a distraction.”
“I ain’t sayin’ he has to know all our secrets, where the tits come from, he can help us peddle ‘em. That’s all I’m sayin’. Kid’s got charm, you can’t deny that.”
“Kid’s got a temper, too,” Chucky pointed out.
“Oh, big fucking deal. Like you’re any different, shit. Think you know every damn thing about me. Just because I’m young doesn’t mean shit. Like Johnny here said, I got charm, people like me. Let me help you.” Randy didn’t know why he wanted to get himself tied into this. This would be his connection, this would be his in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The days rolled on, turning into weeks; slowly Chucky grew to trust Randy further. He had turned out to be a great salesman, boosting their business, detracting from what the Latinos and Homeboys were doing. John and Randy hung out more, playing cards, working out, eating together.
Then, one day, it happened. Randy was in the shower, lathering his chest, when John came in at the same time. “I think I heard sumthin’ about today bein’ your birthday.”
“You heard right,” Randy said, turning to face John, unable to keep from looking John up and down. “Twenty-two years old today.”
John smirked, his eyes traveling over Randy’s body, as well. He didn’t hide it, either. “Well,” he said, taking a step closer to Randy, reaching a hand out and running it down his arm, feeling the goosebumps form underneath his touch, “happy birthday.”
“John, what are you doing?” Randy asked, wanting this, yet not wanting it at the same time, but not thinking it would ever happen.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m giving you a birthday to remember.” He grabbed Randy’s arm and behind his head, pulling the young man in close to his ear, “But know this; this is a one time thing. I ain’t a fag.”
Randy nodded and said, “I got it.”
John continued to run his hand over Randy’s arm as the water washed over them. His left hand trailed down over Randy’s dripping chest, over his six pack and down over his half-hard dick. “And I’m telling you right now, if anyone else hears about this, you’re dead, Orton.”
“I won’t say a word,” Randy said, enjoying the surprisingly soft touch of John’s hand on his cock.
John’s fingers feathered over Randy’s dick, his eyes locked on what his hand was doing. Randy’s own gaze was focused on what John was doing to him. John then gripped Randy’s cock, stroking it up and down, bringing it to full hardness. His grip tightened, putting a pressure on it as he stroked more. His other hand now dropped from Randy’s arm to his balls. He rolled one of them in his hand, squeezing it lightly.
They were both silent the entire time. Randy never made a move to touch John back. And their lips never met once. John continued to slide his hand up and down, letting his thumb swirl over the sensitive head, spreading the precum over it.
The water was dripping over them and John hands still moved, from base to tip, from tip to base, faster and faster as Randy drew close to climax. He could feel Randy’s balls tightening as he rolled and squeezed them in his hand.
When Randy came, it shot up, covering his stomach and chest. His head dropped back and he fought the urge to cry out. John’s hand stayed on his dick until it went soft, and then he let it drop back down.
Finally, John looked into Randy’s eyes. That wall had started to come down. For once the man seemed uncertain. He didn’t know what to expect from this, if he should expect anything from this. John broke their gaze and turned off the water, heading over to grab his towel. “Happy birthday,” he said once more before wrapping the towel around his waist and walking off.
Randy dried off and left for his pod where he found Beecher sitting up on his bed. “What did I tell you?” Toby asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.
“Huh?” Randy replied, pulling out some of his clothes to put on.
“Your first night here, what did I tell you?”
“That you shit on someone’s face.”
Toby laughed as a sick smile passed over his face, “There was that, yeah. But didn’t I tell you not to get in too deep?”
“And what the fuck did you mean by that, anyway?”
Toby hopped down from his bunk, standing up right next to Randy, “I didn’t want you to go through the same thing I did. But it looks like, once again, you didn’t listen to me. I know what you’re doing, know you’re helping them sell tits, and I know what you did with John today.”
Randy’s face dropped. No one came in the shower; no one saw them, so how did he know? “How do you know what happened with me and John?”
“I just know. But, don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” Toby then left the room, the door clicking shut behind him, and found Augustus Hill sitting at a table playing checkers with Bob Rebadow.
“Shit,” Randy said, sitting on his bed, resting his head in his hands. He didn’t know why John did what he did. He certainly didn’t object to it, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting it.
John dressed and sat down at the table next to Rebadow, taking out a deck of cards and setting up solitaire in front of him. His game went on, continuing even as the game of checkers ended. His focus was on those cards, so when he looked up, he was not expecting Bob to be sitting directly across from him. “Shit.”
“It’s ok, you know. You don’t have to be ashamed.”
“Ashamed of what? Playin’ cards by myself?”
“No, for coming onto Randy in the shower,” Bob said quite bluntly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Rebadow?” John asked, any amusement gone from his face. How did he know what happened? Unless Randy told Beecher who told all those fucks at the table. But why the hell would Beecher do that? Everyone knew he was having sex with Keller, so why would he have blabbed? But it all leads back to Randy. Randy, the fucking shit bag, told Beecher that he jerked him off in the shower.
“It’s ok, you know. Randy feels the same way about you.”
John’s head bowed down into his open palm. When he looked up, he asked, “How did you know?”
Rebadow’s head shot up, staring at the sky when he answered, “God told me.”
John stood from his seat, stewing with anger. ‘God told me’ my ass. He was covering for Beecher. Oh, sure, he had heard that Rebadow had these conversations with God, but why would God care to share that kind of information with him? No, oh no, Beecher told the fuckers, which means Ran- Orton told Beecher. What did he not understand about tell anyone and die? Apparently a hand job was more valuable than his life. Not that he’d kill Randy immediately, no, he’d give him time to think, to regret ever blabbing his big mouth to anyone.
The old John would have walked into Randy’s pod and shanked the man on the spot. That’s what landed him here in the first place. Prisoner #99C548, John Felix Anthony Cena, arrested August 23, 1999 for two counts of murder in the first degree; his sentence, life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. He was twenty-two when he was arrested, same age Randy was now. When he arrived, he watched as the Italians were falling apart. Petey was in the psych ward after being raped by Adebisi, Antonio Nappa ended up with HIV and was shipped off to the AIDS ward just before John got put into Oz, and now it was Chucky Pancamo in charge of operations. No wonder they were falling apart. Not that Chucky wasn’t a great guy; he just had a tendency to think with his fists before his mind.
That’s where John came in. He stepped up, he got them organized, he took the lead role from Chucky, yet no one complained. Yeah, a lot of shit happened between then and now, in those three years the Latinos had upped their game and were cutting into profits, as had the Homeboys, but John was laughing at them again as he watched the Homeboys self destruct as Poet stumbled to take charge once Adebisi had been killed. And now, well, they were back on top. Sure, Randy had helped them, but did he really think that would stop John from turning on him in a second? He and Chucky decided to have Antonio killed, Antonio, one of the most feared mobsters of his time. Randy was just a little fly, he was nothing compared to Antonio. Nothing. Yeah, John would see to it that Randy got what he deserved. And he would keep his hands clean in doing so.
Neither man spoke to each other the rest of the day. People came up to Randy looking for tits, but he didn’t have any. The new shipment was coming in that day, and there was no way John would keep him in the loop now. He didn’t know a lot about how or where they got the drugs from, all he knew was he was done with selling for John. He was done with John. He knew that as soon as Beecher said he knew. Well, that and the fact that John turned away from him as soon as he came anywhere near him. What a fucking wonderful birthday this was turning into. First off, he was in here for his birthday, and then the one person he actually felt somewhat comfortable around stopped talking. Yup, it was a great birthday indeed.
And that’s how it went on for days. Randy found himself talking more and more to Ryan O’Reily, the greatest manipulator in Oz. The man was a snake, he was always able to weasel himself out of any situation. Yeah, Randy found himself easily identifying with the Irishman. Naturally, Ryan was curious as to the behaviour of Randy because the man had spent so much time around John these past weeks then all of a sudden, there was no contact between them. He certainly had his suspicions, but he immediately ruled out sex. Looking at the both of them he didn’t think it was possible for either of them to take it up the ass. So, no, maybe it was drug related. Maybe Randy was snorting the tits instead of selling, or maybe he was pocketing the money himself. Yeah, that one made the most sense.
John watched on as the friendship between Randy and Ryan developed and the tension between Randy and himself grew. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. It was time for Randy to go down. He looked at his watch, knowing that Randy was going to the gym now. How did he know? Well, he conveniently checked the schedule, and possibly paid off one of the hacks to leave them alone so there would be no other witnesses. This was also, he decided, the right time to tell Randy exactly how he ended up in Oz.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Randy asked, setting down a dumbbell.
“I’m here to tell you a little story,” he said, getting right up in Randy’s face. “I never told you why I’m here.”
“No, and I don’t really care right now, either.”
“Tough shit, because you’re gonna listen. Do you know the legal definition of murder in the first degree? It’s premeditated, planned out in advance. I got four brothers, ya know, I’m close with all of ‘em. When someone fucks with one of us, when someone fucks with the family, they’re dead. And that’s what happened to those two fucks. Did you know that, Randy, that I killed two men? Or, at least got caught for killing two men, who’s to say were the only ones?” A sick smirk appeared on his face, and finally he saw a glimmer of fear in Randy’s eyes. Good, he should be afraid. Because if things got out of hand, all John had to do was yell and the CO would come running in and break them up and Randy would be sent to the hole and he’d then have all the Italians after him. It was a win-win situation.
Randy stood up from the bench, towering over John as his fight or flight defense system kicked on. “You wouldn’t do that.”
John laughed, “You really think that, Orton? You really think that I won’t shank you right here, right now? You really think that you have a special place in my heart just because I gave you a hand job? Think again.”
“I don’t know why the fuck it’s such a big deal,” Randy tried to plead. “Guys do this kinda shit all the time in prison, right? I mean, we have needs.”
“That’s what Penthouse and Stuff are for. Have you ever heard of Antonio Nappa?” Randy shook his head no, so John continued, “Mr. Nappa, God rest his soul, was one of the most feared mobsters of his day. And I ordered him to be killed. Some fag suffocated him with a pillow.”
“Why?” Randy asked, completely confused about the situation. “Shit, John, I never fucking told anyone about that shit in the shower,” Randy told him, preparing for a fight anyway.
“Bullshit. You told Beecher, who told Hill and Rebadow, who turned around and told me that it was ok. I asked him how he knew, but I knew he would cover for Beecher. Said God told him.”
“Well, shit, God must have told him, because I DIDN’T TELL ANYONE!” Randy bellowed, his face mere inches from John’s.
John didn’t back down from Randy, instead he started walking forward, backing Randy into the chain link border between the weight room and the basketball court. “Bull. Shit. I don’t need this whole place to be thinkin’ I take it up the ass, cuz I don’t. I ain’t a fuckin’ fag, I told you.”
“And you think I am? Maybe that’s why you’re so pissed off at me, because you do want me to fuck you.”
John pressed his forearm into Randy’s neck, cutting off the air supply. “Fuck you.”
“You wish,” Randy quipped back, even though he was fighting to catch a breath.
John hadn’t expected things to last this long in here. He hadn’t expected to even let Randy get a word in. And yet, here they were. He felt Randy’s body tensing under his arm, heard his shallow, gasping breaths, saw the sweat begin to drip off Randy’s forehead, could smell the fear, yet he wanted nothing more than to taste him, to capture Randy’s mouth with his own and actually find out what Randy tasted like. And that was not a good sign. That was not what he was here for, in fact, that was the reason Randy was a threat to him. Chucky had been right, Randy was detracting; he took away John’s focus on their business operations. Their eyes locked and a spark was sent down both their bodies. “Fuck it,” John said, dropping his arm from Randy’s throat before diving in to meet Randy’s mouth with his own.
Randy pushed back on John’s shoulders, sending the man backwards. Panting, Randy asked, “What is this shit? Kiss me then kill me? Make me think that you actually want me, only to shank me after you’re done?”
John sat on the bench Randy had been working out on and looked into his eyes, looking as confused as Randy. “Fuck.”
“What?” Randy shouted, “Was that your fucking plan all along?” He grabbed John’s shirt and pulled him up, once again bringing them face to face. “That it? Fuck with my head?”
“No! I wanted you dead days ago!”
“Then how come you didn’t take care of it days ago?”
“Because I don’t work like that anymore. You should know that, you got to know me better than anyone here in those couple weeks than anyone else in this cum stain of a prison.” John’s voice dropped low, the anger seeping through each word, “I never should have let you get this close to me.”
“I guess you shouldn’t have. So, John, what are you gonna do about me?”
Their eyes stayed locked on one another. For once, John was able to see inside of Randy, able to see his true feelings. Randy was afraid, but John could also see that the man had developed something for him. So, John, quick as a flash, drew the shank out of his pocket and held it up against Randy’s throat. “Is this what you want me to do? You know, if I do this and I get caught, I’ll be put on death row.”
“Is killing me worth your own life, then?”
“I’m in this place for the resta my life, anyway. Maybe killin’ you’ll be my blessing, maybe it’ll finally free me from Oz.”
“Then do it. I dare you,” Randy snarled.
Instead, John threw his makeshift knife to the floor and once again brought his mouth to Randy’s. And this time Randy returned the kiss. Their tongues fought with each other in a battle for dominance, and neither one backed down. John’s hands wrapped around Randy’s head, brining them closer to one another.
Randy had his arms behind John’s back, drawing their hips together, feeling the heat coming off of them. A moan inadvertently escaped Randy’s mouth, getting lost in John’s.
One of John’s hands snaked downwards, grabbing the hem of Randy’s t-shirt. Getting the hint, Randy broke off the kiss and allowed John to take off his shirt. Randy then returned the favour, tossing the shirt to the side. Each man unbuckled his pants, and slid them over their hips, down to their knees.
Now the question arose between them, but remained unspoken. They both knew that, no matter who bottomed, neither one would be a prag, neither one would be the other’s bitch. Randy gave John a small nod, accepting his role this time. John grabbed Randy’s shoulders and turned him around. He bent over and took a firm grip on the bench press bar. “I’ve never done this before,” Randy said, even though he knew John knew that already.
“Me either. I ain’t never taken it up the ass before,” he replied. “Never fucked no one in the ass, either. If there was one thing Antonio taught us it was self control.”
Randy heard John spit into his hand a couple times as he spread it around on his dick. Yeah, he had done that a couple times before when he was browsing the pages of Hustler. He didn’t know what to expect with it, though. He did know that, for some reason unknown to him, he wanted John to fuck him. And he wanted to fuck John, even though both of ‘em were guys. “Then what is it about me? What is it about me that makes you lose control?”
John aligned his dick with Randy’s asshole and pushed himself in through the tight ring. Randy let out a shout, so John quickly covered Randy’s mouth with his hand. Finally, he answered, “Fuck if I know.” He was all the way inside of Randy now, and he remained still. He felt Randy’s body quivering around him, trying to adjust to the intrusion.
Randy’s breaths deepened and he shut his eyes, trying to block out the pain. “Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Randy repeated over and over once John started to move inside him.
John ran his hands over Randy’s muscular back. He let a finger trace along the back piece back and forth. The action from John, so unexpected, so gentle, so caring, sent shivers down Randy’s spine. John drew his hips back and then slammed in again. He let his instincts take over, let his hips move of their own accord.
Slowly, the pain of John’s entrance turned pleasurable as John moved in and out of him. He removed one hand from the bench press and brought it to his own dick as he started to jerk himself off. His hand fell into a rhythm matching John’s movements.
And when John changed his angles Randy cried out, this time not out of pain. John did it again, brushing against Randy’s prostate, causing Randy to cry out once more. “Oh, fuck!” Randy said. This whole thing was so new to him, all the sensations, the feelings, not just physically, either, and before he knew it, Randy was coming. His ass clenched around John’s dick, still thrusting in and out of him.
Not soon after Randy came, John started shooting inside of Randy. When John was completely spent, he pulled himself out of Randy, watching as the cum began to dribble down the back of Randy’s legs. Both men pulled up their pants. Randy turned around to face John, meeting his eyes. “Shit, John.”
John let his hand fall onto Randy’s arm, stroking down to his hand. “I know. Shit, Randy, I know.” He turned away and picked up his and Randy’s shirts from the floor, handing Randy his clothes and tucking the shank back into his pants.
They walked out of the gym together, Randy in front of John. The CO looked between John and Randy, then raised an eyebrow at John, who only shrugged. “We worked things out.”
Once they reached Em City, Chucky headed over towards them, a surprised look on his face. Before Chucky could say anything, John said, “He’s back in with us.” And together they left Chucky standing there as they walked to John’s pod. John sat down on the bottom bunk, Petey’s bunk, and Randy sat on the metal toilet. “We should talk to McManus; see if we can shuffle things up a little bit here.”
“You mean ask if I can move into your pod? What about Petey, though? He’s still a little… Crazy, isn’t he?”
“Then he’d be a perfect match for Beecher.”
“Yeah, that’s just what we need, a loony moving in with another crazy.”
John looked around and bit his lip before placing a hand on Randy’s knee. “C’mon, Randy. It’d do you some good to get out of Beecher’s pod.”
“I’d still be stuck on the bottom bunk, wouldn’t I?” Randy asked, grinning.
“Shit yes,” John answered, drawing his hand back to rest it in his own lap. “So, can you go to McManus, or not?”
“Sure, let’s go.”
Once in McManus’ office, the two told him that they were interested in switching pods. “You want me to move Orton into your pod? Any particular reason?”
John answered, “Well, we thought you might like to mix things up a bit. Promote friendships between the different groups.”
“And you think I should take it upon myself to start with you two?”
“Well, you already roomed Beecher and Said together once, right?”
“Fine, we’ll move Schibetta in with Beecher and Orton, you can move into John’s pod. Go and get your shit out.”
Chapter 2
Prisoner #02P437, Randal Keith Orton, twenty-one years old, convicted March 19, 2002 for assault and battery with a deadly weapon. His home for the next several years would now be the Oswald State Correctional Facility (Level 4), more specifically, Emerald City.
“Beecher,” Officer Howell bellowed, though Toby was standing two feet away from her, “get your ass over here. This is Randal Orton. Randal, this is your sponsor, Tobias Beecher.”
Tobias extended his hand in greeting, but Randy was having none of it. His eyes were piercing; he was not about to shake the hand of a man he didn’t know, and, from giving him a full look over, didn’t like.
Randy trailed behind Beecher, keeping his pace slow and steady as they drew ever closer to Em City. Finally, they reached their destination. He let himself absorb the atmosphere, let himself feel the tension and the hatred in the air. He looked around, seeing the glass doors, two floors of it. He looked up and saw the guard station. He could feel the eyes upon him as he made his way through. He heard Beecher say, “Our pod is this way.”
“Wonderful,” was the first word Randy spoke since he arrived in Oz. With his prison issue sheets and toilet paper, he followed Beecher into their pod. He noticed the top bunk had sheets on it already. Oh, that was even better. He was 6’ 5”, locked up in some shit hole with this pussy bitch and he was stuck on the bottom bunk. Fucking great.
Once he made his bed, he stepped out of the pod, Beecher behind him. Again, his eyes grazed over the bodies and stopped dead on one man playing cards wearing a baseball cap, a white tank top and jeans.
Beecher noticed where the new inmate’s gaze had stopped. “Randal, you-”
“Randy,” he told him. “It’s Randy.”
“Ok, Randy, you don’t wanna fuck with the Italians. They’re out for revenge right now for the Latinos and Homeboys taking over the drug trade, and they don’t care who gets in their way.”
“Like I give a shit. Who’s he?”
“There you have Peter Schibetta, he just got released from the psych ward, Chucky Pancamo and John Cena.”
“Who’s the guy in the hat?”
“John,” Toby answered.
Randy started walking towards the table, figuring it was time he started to make connections in this joint. “Deal me in next round,” a very confident Randy said, looking directly at John.
“Can I help you?” John asked with a heavy accent, eyeing Randy up and down, noticing the tribal tattoos covering his arms, his boyish charms and his large stature.
“Yeah, deal me in,” he said again, pulling up a chair for himself.
The men at the table finished up this round their card game as John kept an eye on Randy sitting next to him. “So, you’re the new guy here. You’re awful cocky for being the new guy.”
A smirk appeared on Randy’s face as he answered, “Can’t help that. What’s that they say? It’s in the genes.”
“Guess so. Name’s John,” he said, passing a card to Randy.
“Randy.”
“Well, Randy, you know how to play pinochle?”
“No fuckin clue.”
Tim McManus, the man whose brain child was Em City, watched from above as his newest inmate approached the Italians and was accepted. He was happy to see people, what would he call it, bonding? But this new alliance was potentially dangerous. The Italians already had brains and brawn, and this new addition could mean trouble. Although Randy had been brought in as one of “The Others,” most of them were no great threat to anyone, not involved in the drug trade, only Keller was of potential danger, but he was sent to a Mass prison after confessing to put out a hit on Vern Schillinger’s son, Hank. This Orton person, seeing how easily and confidently he walked up to one of the most respected gangs in all of Oz, could just as easily open himself to the Irish, Aryans and Bikers. He would just have to wait and see.
Randy even sat with them at dinner. He talked very little, and they avoided talking about anything “business related” around him, so their conversations were very limited. He did, however, find out that John was originally from Boston, ended up in New York and then here. John didn’t tell him what he did to get himself locked up, said that was for another time.
As John spoke to Randy he looked into his eyes, trying to read him. No fear, there was no fear in his eyes. In fact, there was nothing in his eyes. Nothing but his cocky confidence, which was all that shone through his icy blue eyes. He had a wall built up around him, and if John’s assumptions were correct, then this wall was up there long before he was arrested in the first place. Yeah, he wouldn’t be anyone’s prag. John figured that he and Randy would get on just fine.
Directly after dinner they all headed back to Em City, whereupon the guards said it was time to get in their pods for the night. Now that was the last thing Randy needed at the moment: to spend five hours locked up in his pod until lights out.
He watched as Toby stepped up onto the top bunk before sitting down, rather uncomfortably, on his own bunk. “So, why don’t you tell me all about yourself, Randy?” Toby asked, reclining against the back wall.
“Not much to tell,” he replied.
“You’re pretty young.”
“Your point?”
“I used to be a lawyer, you know. Until one day, one fucking mistake, and I landed myself here. Some people say I was crazy, you know.”
Randy raised an eyebrow then stood up so he could look at Beecher as they talked. “Oh, yeah?”
Toby turned his head to face Randy as a grin rose on his face, “Yeah. I can see how you are. You want to be the new tough guy in town, you don’t want to let anyone get inside you,” he said, poking Randy in the chest. He shook his head as he continued, “You should have seen me when I first showed up here. I was scared shitless; I tried to fit in, I wanted to fit in, but I couldn’t. I was everyone’s prag. Nah, I knew you wouldn’t try any of that shit with me, but if you were here five years ago, you coulda had a piece of me, too. My second night here my pod mate burned a Swastika into my ass and then he fucked me.”
“Why are you even bothering to tell me all this?” Randy asked, even though he was engrossed in this conversation, one sided as it was.
“I know you think I’m a little bitch; I’ve been around here long enough to know what the new guys think of me. And I know earlier you didn’t listen to me, but I’ve gotten to know this place and the people inside its walls. You get tied up with John and the rest of them, you’ll get yourself in deep. When I was still Vern’s prag I got hooked on heroin. One day… One day I snapped; I threw a chair into his pod, sending glass into his eye. Then I shit in his face. I also bit off someone’s dick.”
Instinctively, Randy’s hands covered his crotch as he added, “That’s some sick shit.”
“Next thing I know,” Toby continued, “I’m falling in love with Chris Keller, who turns around and breaks all my bones with the help of his ol’ pal Verny. And then, would you believe it, I fell in love with him again. We fucked in your bunk.”
Randy closed his eyes, not wanting to picture two men fucking in the place he was going to be sleeping for God knows how long. “Shit, where the hell is this all going?”
“Do you know how long it took me to fall for Chris?”
“No, how long?” Randy played along.
“I was head over heels for him within a week of his arrival. Hell, if I’m totally honest with myself, it was as soon as we laid eyes on each other.”
“What the fuck is your point?”
“Don’t let yourself get in too deep.” And with that, Toby reached over to the shelf on the wall near his bed and pulled off a book. He settled down with it, even though he could feel Randy’s cold and confused stare on him.
As Randy lay in bed that night, his first night in prison, he thought about all the things Toby had told him. He thought about all the things Toby went through when he arrived in Oz, about how Toby had been put through hell and back, about what Toby told him what happened between himself and Chris. What had he meant by ‘Don’t let yourself get in too deep’? In too deep with the Italians because of the drug trade, or was he suggesting something with John? He did bring up his past addiction to heroin, after all. But he also brought up this Keller guy. Apparently they had been in this pod together, so where was Keller now? How the hell did he end up stuck in here with this nut job? He bit off someone’s dick, that alone should be worthy of solitary confinement. Needless to say, Randy didn’t sleep very well that night.
That morning, the lights flashed on and Randy was woken from his drowsy state at the guard’s yell of “COUNT!”
Day two had begun.
When Randy stepped out of his pod, he looked around at all the inmates lined up on both floors of the prison. He would need to breech out today, try and extend his connections, try and make his stay here as easy on him as possible. But, before that, it was time to talk with John again, because, dammit, was gonna learn pinochle if it killed him.
They were in the middle of the game when Chucky Pancamo pulled up a chair and sat down next to John. “We got a shipment coming today. We need you to be at your best, not distracted by this guy,” he added with a nod of his head in Randy’s direction.
“Who the fuck are you calling a distraction? If anything I can only benefit you.”
“Yeah, right, Orton. You do know we don’t do the drugs; we just sell ‘em.”
Randy stood up from his chair, sending it flying backwards. “You fuck! Do you really think I fucking-”
John stood up and covered Randy’s mouth with his hand, preventing him from doing any more shouting. “Shit, just shut up! You, too, Chucky.” A guard walked over to them, but before he said anything, John said, “Everything’s ok over here. Move along.” Once he was finally out of range of hearing them, he sat back down and gestured for Randy to sit as well. He then continued, “You know, he could help us.”
Chucky turned his attention to John, a stunned look upon his face, “What, you mean you want this punk to get in on our action? He hasn’t even been here a full day and you’re already letting him in? I told you he was a distraction.”
“I ain’t sayin’ he has to know all our secrets, where the tits come from, he can help us peddle ‘em. That’s all I’m sayin’. Kid’s got charm, you can’t deny that.”
“Kid’s got a temper, too,” Chucky pointed out.
“Oh, big fucking deal. Like you’re any different, shit. Think you know every damn thing about me. Just because I’m young doesn’t mean shit. Like Johnny here said, I got charm, people like me. Let me help you.” Randy didn’t know why he wanted to get himself tied into this. This would be his connection, this would be his in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The days rolled on, turning into weeks; slowly Chucky grew to trust Randy further. He had turned out to be a great salesman, boosting their business, detracting from what the Latinos and Homeboys were doing. John and Randy hung out more, playing cards, working out, eating together.
Then, one day, it happened. Randy was in the shower, lathering his chest, when John came in at the same time. “I think I heard sumthin’ about today bein’ your birthday.”
“You heard right,” Randy said, turning to face John, unable to keep from looking John up and down. “Twenty-two years old today.”
John smirked, his eyes traveling over Randy’s body, as well. He didn’t hide it, either. “Well,” he said, taking a step closer to Randy, reaching a hand out and running it down his arm, feeling the goosebumps form underneath his touch, “happy birthday.”
“John, what are you doing?” Randy asked, wanting this, yet not wanting it at the same time, but not thinking it would ever happen.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m giving you a birthday to remember.” He grabbed Randy’s arm and behind his head, pulling the young man in close to his ear, “But know this; this is a one time thing. I ain’t a fag.”
Randy nodded and said, “I got it.”
John continued to run his hand over Randy’s arm as the water washed over them. His left hand trailed down over Randy’s dripping chest, over his six pack and down over his half-hard dick. “And I’m telling you right now, if anyone else hears about this, you’re dead, Orton.”
“I won’t say a word,” Randy said, enjoying the surprisingly soft touch of John’s hand on his cock.
John’s fingers feathered over Randy’s dick, his eyes locked on what his hand was doing. Randy’s own gaze was focused on what John was doing to him. John then gripped Randy’s cock, stroking it up and down, bringing it to full hardness. His grip tightened, putting a pressure on it as he stroked more. His other hand now dropped from Randy’s arm to his balls. He rolled one of them in his hand, squeezing it lightly.
They were both silent the entire time. Randy never made a move to touch John back. And their lips never met once. John continued to slide his hand up and down, letting his thumb swirl over the sensitive head, spreading the precum over it.
The water was dripping over them and John hands still moved, from base to tip, from tip to base, faster and faster as Randy drew close to climax. He could feel Randy’s balls tightening as he rolled and squeezed them in his hand.
When Randy came, it shot up, covering his stomach and chest. His head dropped back and he fought the urge to cry out. John’s hand stayed on his dick until it went soft, and then he let it drop back down.
Finally, John looked into Randy’s eyes. That wall had started to come down. For once the man seemed uncertain. He didn’t know what to expect from this, if he should expect anything from this. John broke their gaze and turned off the water, heading over to grab his towel. “Happy birthday,” he said once more before wrapping the towel around his waist and walking off.
Randy dried off and left for his pod where he found Beecher sitting up on his bed. “What did I tell you?” Toby asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.
“Huh?” Randy replied, pulling out some of his clothes to put on.
“Your first night here, what did I tell you?”
“That you shit on someone’s face.”
Toby laughed as a sick smile passed over his face, “There was that, yeah. But didn’t I tell you not to get in too deep?”
“And what the fuck did you mean by that, anyway?”
Toby hopped down from his bunk, standing up right next to Randy, “I didn’t want you to go through the same thing I did. But it looks like, once again, you didn’t listen to me. I know what you’re doing, know you’re helping them sell tits, and I know what you did with John today.”
Randy’s face dropped. No one came in the shower; no one saw them, so how did he know? “How do you know what happened with me and John?”
“I just know. But, don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” Toby then left the room, the door clicking shut behind him, and found Augustus Hill sitting at a table playing checkers with Bob Rebadow.
“Shit,” Randy said, sitting on his bed, resting his head in his hands. He didn’t know why John did what he did. He certainly didn’t object to it, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting it.
John dressed and sat down at the table next to Rebadow, taking out a deck of cards and setting up solitaire in front of him. His game went on, continuing even as the game of checkers ended. His focus was on those cards, so when he looked up, he was not expecting Bob to be sitting directly across from him. “Shit.”
“It’s ok, you know. You don’t have to be ashamed.”
“Ashamed of what? Playin’ cards by myself?”
“No, for coming onto Randy in the shower,” Bob said quite bluntly, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“What the fuck are you talkin’ about, Rebadow?” John asked, any amusement gone from his face. How did he know what happened? Unless Randy told Beecher who told all those fucks at the table. But why the hell would Beecher do that? Everyone knew he was having sex with Keller, so why would he have blabbed? But it all leads back to Randy. Randy, the fucking shit bag, told Beecher that he jerked him off in the shower.
“It’s ok, you know. Randy feels the same way about you.”
John’s head bowed down into his open palm. When he looked up, he asked, “How did you know?”
Rebadow’s head shot up, staring at the sky when he answered, “God told me.”
John stood from his seat, stewing with anger. ‘God told me’ my ass. He was covering for Beecher. Oh, sure, he had heard that Rebadow had these conversations with God, but why would God care to share that kind of information with him? No, oh no, Beecher told the fuckers, which means Ran- Orton told Beecher. What did he not understand about tell anyone and die? Apparently a hand job was more valuable than his life. Not that he’d kill Randy immediately, no, he’d give him time to think, to regret ever blabbing his big mouth to anyone.
The old John would have walked into Randy’s pod and shanked the man on the spot. That’s what landed him here in the first place. Prisoner #99C548, John Felix Anthony Cena, arrested August 23, 1999 for two counts of murder in the first degree; his sentence, life imprisonment without the possibility of parole. He was twenty-two when he was arrested, same age Randy was now. When he arrived, he watched as the Italians were falling apart. Petey was in the psych ward after being raped by Adebisi, Antonio Nappa ended up with HIV and was shipped off to the AIDS ward just before John got put into Oz, and now it was Chucky Pancamo in charge of operations. No wonder they were falling apart. Not that Chucky wasn’t a great guy; he just had a tendency to think with his fists before his mind.
That’s where John came in. He stepped up, he got them organized, he took the lead role from Chucky, yet no one complained. Yeah, a lot of shit happened between then and now, in those three years the Latinos had upped their game and were cutting into profits, as had the Homeboys, but John was laughing at them again as he watched the Homeboys self destruct as Poet stumbled to take charge once Adebisi had been killed. And now, well, they were back on top. Sure, Randy had helped them, but did he really think that would stop John from turning on him in a second? He and Chucky decided to have Antonio killed, Antonio, one of the most feared mobsters of his time. Randy was just a little fly, he was nothing compared to Antonio. Nothing. Yeah, John would see to it that Randy got what he deserved. And he would keep his hands clean in doing so.
Neither man spoke to each other the rest of the day. People came up to Randy looking for tits, but he didn’t have any. The new shipment was coming in that day, and there was no way John would keep him in the loop now. He didn’t know a lot about how or where they got the drugs from, all he knew was he was done with selling for John. He was done with John. He knew that as soon as Beecher said he knew. Well, that and the fact that John turned away from him as soon as he came anywhere near him. What a fucking wonderful birthday this was turning into. First off, he was in here for his birthday, and then the one person he actually felt somewhat comfortable around stopped talking. Yup, it was a great birthday indeed.
And that’s how it went on for days. Randy found himself talking more and more to Ryan O’Reily, the greatest manipulator in Oz. The man was a snake, he was always able to weasel himself out of any situation. Yeah, Randy found himself easily identifying with the Irishman. Naturally, Ryan was curious as to the behaviour of Randy because the man had spent so much time around John these past weeks then all of a sudden, there was no contact between them. He certainly had his suspicions, but he immediately ruled out sex. Looking at the both of them he didn’t think it was possible for either of them to take it up the ass. So, no, maybe it was drug related. Maybe Randy was snorting the tits instead of selling, or maybe he was pocketing the money himself. Yeah, that one made the most sense.
John watched on as the friendship between Randy and Ryan developed and the tension between Randy and himself grew. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. It was time for Randy to go down. He looked at his watch, knowing that Randy was going to the gym now. How did he know? Well, he conveniently checked the schedule, and possibly paid off one of the hacks to leave them alone so there would be no other witnesses. This was also, he decided, the right time to tell Randy exactly how he ended up in Oz.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Randy asked, setting down a dumbbell.
“I’m here to tell you a little story,” he said, getting right up in Randy’s face. “I never told you why I’m here.”
“No, and I don’t really care right now, either.”
“Tough shit, because you’re gonna listen. Do you know the legal definition of murder in the first degree? It’s premeditated, planned out in advance. I got four brothers, ya know, I’m close with all of ‘em. When someone fucks with one of us, when someone fucks with the family, they’re dead. And that’s what happened to those two fucks. Did you know that, Randy, that I killed two men? Or, at least got caught for killing two men, who’s to say were the only ones?” A sick smirk appeared on his face, and finally he saw a glimmer of fear in Randy’s eyes. Good, he should be afraid. Because if things got out of hand, all John had to do was yell and the CO would come running in and break them up and Randy would be sent to the hole and he’d then have all the Italians after him. It was a win-win situation.
Randy stood up from the bench, towering over John as his fight or flight defense system kicked on. “You wouldn’t do that.”
John laughed, “You really think that, Orton? You really think that I won’t shank you right here, right now? You really think that you have a special place in my heart just because I gave you a hand job? Think again.”
“I don’t know why the fuck it’s such a big deal,” Randy tried to plead. “Guys do this kinda shit all the time in prison, right? I mean, we have needs.”
“That’s what Penthouse and Stuff are for. Have you ever heard of Antonio Nappa?” Randy shook his head no, so John continued, “Mr. Nappa, God rest his soul, was one of the most feared mobsters of his day. And I ordered him to be killed. Some fag suffocated him with a pillow.”
“Why?” Randy asked, completely confused about the situation. “Shit, John, I never fucking told anyone about that shit in the shower,” Randy told him, preparing for a fight anyway.
“Bullshit. You told Beecher, who told Hill and Rebadow, who turned around and told me that it was ok. I asked him how he knew, but I knew he would cover for Beecher. Said God told him.”
“Well, shit, God must have told him, because I DIDN’T TELL ANYONE!” Randy bellowed, his face mere inches from John’s.
John didn’t back down from Randy, instead he started walking forward, backing Randy into the chain link border between the weight room and the basketball court. “Bull. Shit. I don’t need this whole place to be thinkin’ I take it up the ass, cuz I don’t. I ain’t a fuckin’ fag, I told you.”
“And you think I am? Maybe that’s why you’re so pissed off at me, because you do want me to fuck you.”
John pressed his forearm into Randy’s neck, cutting off the air supply. “Fuck you.”
“You wish,” Randy quipped back, even though he was fighting to catch a breath.
John hadn’t expected things to last this long in here. He hadn’t expected to even let Randy get a word in. And yet, here they were. He felt Randy’s body tensing under his arm, heard his shallow, gasping breaths, saw the sweat begin to drip off Randy’s forehead, could smell the fear, yet he wanted nothing more than to taste him, to capture Randy’s mouth with his own and actually find out what Randy tasted like. And that was not a good sign. That was not what he was here for, in fact, that was the reason Randy was a threat to him. Chucky had been right, Randy was detracting; he took away John’s focus on their business operations. Their eyes locked and a spark was sent down both their bodies. “Fuck it,” John said, dropping his arm from Randy’s throat before diving in to meet Randy’s mouth with his own.
Randy pushed back on John’s shoulders, sending the man backwards. Panting, Randy asked, “What is this shit? Kiss me then kill me? Make me think that you actually want me, only to shank me after you’re done?”
John sat on the bench Randy had been working out on and looked into his eyes, looking as confused as Randy. “Fuck.”
“What?” Randy shouted, “Was that your fucking plan all along?” He grabbed John’s shirt and pulled him up, once again bringing them face to face. “That it? Fuck with my head?”
“No! I wanted you dead days ago!”
“Then how come you didn’t take care of it days ago?”
“Because I don’t work like that anymore. You should know that, you got to know me better than anyone here in those couple weeks than anyone else in this cum stain of a prison.” John’s voice dropped low, the anger seeping through each word, “I never should have let you get this close to me.”
“I guess you shouldn’t have. So, John, what are you gonna do about me?”
Their eyes stayed locked on one another. For once, John was able to see inside of Randy, able to see his true feelings. Randy was afraid, but John could also see that the man had developed something for him. So, John, quick as a flash, drew the shank out of his pocket and held it up against Randy’s throat. “Is this what you want me to do? You know, if I do this and I get caught, I’ll be put on death row.”
“Is killing me worth your own life, then?”
“I’m in this place for the resta my life, anyway. Maybe killin’ you’ll be my blessing, maybe it’ll finally free me from Oz.”
“Then do it. I dare you,” Randy snarled.
Instead, John threw his makeshift knife to the floor and once again brought his mouth to Randy’s. And this time Randy returned the kiss. Their tongues fought with each other in a battle for dominance, and neither one backed down. John’s hands wrapped around Randy’s head, brining them closer to one another.
Randy had his arms behind John’s back, drawing their hips together, feeling the heat coming off of them. A moan inadvertently escaped Randy’s mouth, getting lost in John’s.
One of John’s hands snaked downwards, grabbing the hem of Randy’s t-shirt. Getting the hint, Randy broke off the kiss and allowed John to take off his shirt. Randy then returned the favour, tossing the shirt to the side. Each man unbuckled his pants, and slid them over their hips, down to their knees.
Now the question arose between them, but remained unspoken. They both knew that, no matter who bottomed, neither one would be a prag, neither one would be the other’s bitch. Randy gave John a small nod, accepting his role this time. John grabbed Randy’s shoulders and turned him around. He bent over and took a firm grip on the bench press bar. “I’ve never done this before,” Randy said, even though he knew John knew that already.
“Me either. I ain’t never taken it up the ass before,” he replied. “Never fucked no one in the ass, either. If there was one thing Antonio taught us it was self control.”
Randy heard John spit into his hand a couple times as he spread it around on his dick. Yeah, he had done that a couple times before when he was browsing the pages of Hustler. He didn’t know what to expect with it, though. He did know that, for some reason unknown to him, he wanted John to fuck him. And he wanted to fuck John, even though both of ‘em were guys. “Then what is it about me? What is it about me that makes you lose control?”
John aligned his dick with Randy’s asshole and pushed himself in through the tight ring. Randy let out a shout, so John quickly covered Randy’s mouth with his hand. Finally, he answered, “Fuck if I know.” He was all the way inside of Randy now, and he remained still. He felt Randy’s body quivering around him, trying to adjust to the intrusion.
Randy’s breaths deepened and he shut his eyes, trying to block out the pain. “Shit, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Randy repeated over and over once John started to move inside him.
John ran his hands over Randy’s muscular back. He let a finger trace along the back piece back and forth. The action from John, so unexpected, so gentle, so caring, sent shivers down Randy’s spine. John drew his hips back and then slammed in again. He let his instincts take over, let his hips move of their own accord.
Slowly, the pain of John’s entrance turned pleasurable as John moved in and out of him. He removed one hand from the bench press and brought it to his own dick as he started to jerk himself off. His hand fell into a rhythm matching John’s movements.
And when John changed his angles Randy cried out, this time not out of pain. John did it again, brushing against Randy’s prostate, causing Randy to cry out once more. “Oh, fuck!” Randy said. This whole thing was so new to him, all the sensations, the feelings, not just physically, either, and before he knew it, Randy was coming. His ass clenched around John’s dick, still thrusting in and out of him.
Not soon after Randy came, John started shooting inside of Randy. When John was completely spent, he pulled himself out of Randy, watching as the cum began to dribble down the back of Randy’s legs. Both men pulled up their pants. Randy turned around to face John, meeting his eyes. “Shit, John.”
John let his hand fall onto Randy’s arm, stroking down to his hand. “I know. Shit, Randy, I know.” He turned away and picked up his and Randy’s shirts from the floor, handing Randy his clothes and tucking the shank back into his pants.
They walked out of the gym together, Randy in front of John. The CO looked between John and Randy, then raised an eyebrow at John, who only shrugged. “We worked things out.”
Once they reached Em City, Chucky headed over towards them, a surprised look on his face. Before Chucky could say anything, John said, “He’s back in with us.” And together they left Chucky standing there as they walked to John’s pod. John sat down on the bottom bunk, Petey’s bunk, and Randy sat on the metal toilet. “We should talk to McManus; see if we can shuffle things up a little bit here.”
“You mean ask if I can move into your pod? What about Petey, though? He’s still a little… Crazy, isn’t he?”
“Then he’d be a perfect match for Beecher.”
“Yeah, that’s just what we need, a loony moving in with another crazy.”
John looked around and bit his lip before placing a hand on Randy’s knee. “C’mon, Randy. It’d do you some good to get out of Beecher’s pod.”
“I’d still be stuck on the bottom bunk, wouldn’t I?” Randy asked, grinning.
“Shit yes,” John answered, drawing his hand back to rest it in his own lap. “So, can you go to McManus, or not?”
“Sure, let’s go.”
Once in McManus’ office, the two told him that they were interested in switching pods. “You want me to move Orton into your pod? Any particular reason?”
John answered, “Well, we thought you might like to mix things up a bit. Promote friendships between the different groups.”
“And you think I should take it upon myself to start with you two?”
“Well, you already roomed Beecher and Said together once, right?”
“Fine, we’ll move Schibetta in with Beecher and Orton, you can move into John’s pod. Go and get your shit out.”
Chapter 2