Party by Te March 2000 DISCLAIMERS: If they belonged to me, I'd give the fuckers back. Eventually. SPOILERS: General first-season-ness as well as Cyril thoughts. SUMMARY: Celebrate good times, come on... RATINGS NOTE: NC-17 for language, implied violence, and Adebisi/O'Reilly interaction. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Believe it or not, I've been trying to make this story work in my head since Oz's first airing. Could be considered a sequel to "Boogieman," but it isn't necessary to read that one first. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: To Jeniece for all that nagging over the years, to Laura for much helpful advice and such, to Melissa for thoughtful, necessary beta, and to Gemma for her forceful encouragement. Anybody else ever wonder if they've taken a loan from the mob? FEEDBACK: Adored and answered if sent to thete1@earthlink.net * Ryan was going to have a special place in his heart for chicken salad from now on, no way around it. He had still been able to smell the mayo on his hand after he had forcefed Schibetta, long after he'd washed and scrubbed and washed again to make sure there was nothing incriminating left on his skin. He'd been careless one day and wound up with the sharp dust under his clothes, spent the whole night wondering if and where he was bleeding. In all honesty, as much fun as it had been watching the old fuck suffer, he was glad to be done with all that glass -- he hadn't been able to get a piece of grit stuck between his teeth without picturing himself shitting blood.... He and Adebisi had made a point of disposing of *all* the glass before leaving the kitchen, checking on each other repeatedly to make sure there was no funny business. That was always the danger of sharing your good ideas -- you never knew when someone was gonna use 'em to fuck you over. And he didn't trust Adebisi as far as he could throw the sonofabitch. Which was almost a shame, really... there were plenty of ruthless assholes in Oz, but brains were on short supply. If he was going to walk out of here -- and he was -- he couldn't afford to work with an idiot. He needed someone smart enough to be useful but nowhere near as smart as Ryan himself. Adebisi was as close as he was likely to get, with all his native shit and -- slight -- overconfidence in his own safety at Oz. The big fuck was the only con he'd ever met who seemed to actually *enjoy* himself in this place -- and that was plenty stupid enough for Ryan. They have a miniature celebration of sorts when Schibetta finally bleeds himself out. Heh, it'd been all Ryan could do not to throw a fucking party, complete with streamers and dancing prags. Ryan prided himself on his ability to stamp down his more suicidal urges. No, the only party he'd allowed himself was just a festive little creep behind the stairs with Adebisi. The little Kennybitch did look-out while he and Adebisi ceremoniously swapped tits. And it was good. *Damned* good, just like his own. He guessed the other man's connections weren't likely to forget the man who'd handed them the head of a narc. The drug went through him in warm little waves, just like a beautiful woman pressing closer, closer, impossibly fucking close until she crawled right the fuck inside, rubbing herself all over Ryan's insides until she was him, or he was her, or whatever it was that could make him this hard and this fucking loose all at the same time. Times like this, Ryan could imagine what it must be like to be a willing whore, all pliant and needy for whatever was out there to need. He could feel the way the edges of the stairs would dig into his legs and spine if he sat down, dull blades failing to sink into his flesh. Maybe he could rub a little against them, tease them, himself, yeah... He opened his eyes and wound up staring directly into Adebisi's own. The other man was grinning at him. That big, fucked-up, I'm-gonna-kill-you-and-fuck-your-corpse grin he seemed to be able to call up on command. Or maybe it was just his regular grin, who the fuck knew. All those white teeth in stark relief to the man's skin. Ryan had never really understood people referring to themselves as "black" until he'd met Adebisi. Who was still staring at him. "What?" "What what? You got a problem, white boy?" Adebisi's eyes narrowed a fraction. "What the fuck are you looking at?" And it suddenly struck him as fucking hilarious, trying to be a badass when he wasn't even sure his legs were still attached to his body. Adebisi picked up on his laughter and joined him, a low, weirdly musical chuckle that just made him seem that much more alien. Ryan knew he himself was laughing, it was just different. He didn't think he could actually fucking *chuckle* in this place. "I'm lookin' at you, boy. What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone 'ere?" All said while his big, possessive hand slid its way down the center of Ryan's chest before pausing at his waist. Ryan swatted the other man's hand away, still laughing. He could actually *picture* Adebisi using the same fucking line on women on the outside. "You know me, Si-mon. Just waitin' for the right girl." "Huh... so that's why you giving Beecher all those tits." Adebisi's grin widened. Ryan was starting to wonder if the man could grin so wide the top of his head just fell off. Tried to picture half a gory smile and started getting mildly queasy. Ryan had always believed that most killings could be taken care of with a minimum of fuss. All the rest of the shit people did -- like what happened to Post -- was just a little too psycho for his tastes. You had to wonder how much the wops had enjoyed *that* one. Sick fucks a lot like the one who'd gotten his hand right back on his waistband. Ryan rolled his eyes and straightened up as much as felt possible. Beat back the vague sensation that he was getting impossibly tall. "I'm not a faggot, Adebisi. Go play with Kenny if that's what you want." Voice from what seemed like eight miles away: "I *ain't* no faggot, mick --" "Shut up, little brother." Adebisi, raising his free hand warningly. Kenny did so immediately, but not without a scowl directed at the back of Adebisi's head. Ryan tried to remember whether or not the man had blinked recently. "Are you gonna move your fucking hand?" Or do I have to attempt to move it for you and wind up getting my ass kicked *and* fucked up against this wall? "I'm not a faggot, either, O'Reilly --" Which was the last thing said before Adebisi suddenly grabbed Ryan's wrists in one hand and yanked them up over his head. Adebisi had his other hand in Ryan's pants and his feet on top of Ryan's in something like nanoseconds. *Had* the other man actually snorted? Ryan had a few moments to curse himself before Adebisi started to stroke. Slow and hard, just like Shannon when she was feeling a little mean. And just like that he could see it in his head -- Dark hair falling over one eye and part of a cold smile as she worked him and fucking turned him out like some punk kid getting his first rub-off behind the gym. He was just getting harder. "*Fuck* -- let go of me, asshole!" Fucking stage whisper because the last thing Ryan needed was some hack telling the entire place about Adebisi's new prag but shit it felt good. He hadn't been able to get a conjugal before the ban came down. Nobody had touched his cock since that fucking wedding and there were way too many things about that he really didn't want to remember and yeah, he was sobering up *fast* between the image of Cyril going blank like a television fading its way off and the thick calloused thumb torturing the head of his dick. Shannon with one of those weird rubber thimbles oh fuck yeah. Maybe if he just... if no one came around... was Kenny watching? Adebisi leaned in close enough for kissing before veering off to settle by Ryan's ear. Breathing humid against the sensitive skin, making him shudder all over. "Consider this a favor." And Ryan could feel the smile pressed right up against his face. Teeth and spit and he felt himself flush hard as he started pumping into the other man's fist. "If you think you're getting any fucking *favors* back I'll bite your fucking *dick* off --" All of which came out hard enough but nowhere near as hard as his fucking bitch dick. Another chuckle, more warm air smelling like pot and the weird white shit from dinner that had supposedly been turkey and Jesus fucking Christ if he didn't speed up Ryan was going to have to start thrusting faster and harder and he could see himself doing it, too. Working his hips around in tight little circles, biting his lip and fuck, everyone would see. Everyone. And then what? Ice cold terror shooting down his spine, into his legs and arms and drooling dick and Adebisi wasn't making any sound at all. Just leaning in close and working him. Ryan tried to breathe through his mouth to lessen the sound of his breathing but accidentally let out a small, damning moan. "I don't need any favors from you, boy... I'm just gonna make you come." And *then* he sped up, catching Ryan's pre-come and slicking his whole dick with it, making it fast and hot and slippery as the world's shortest cunt or whatever and fuck you Adebisi don't you don't you I'm not *weak* please fuck god -- Ryan bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and shot all over Adebisi's hand. A few more cruel little caresses and he was let free, sore and horribly sated. Ryan tucked himself away and put on his game face before looking up again. And immediately lost it at the sight of Kenny sucking his come off Adebisi's fingers. The kid had his eyes squeezed so tightly shut it had to hurt, but he was working Adebisi's fingers like the little pro he'd clearly become. The sight of the boy's little pink tongue sliding up between the other man's fingers made his cock try to twitch and Ryan turned away. "You're a sick fuck, Adebisi." Another laugh. "And you need to have more fun, white boy." He ignored the wet sounds as best he could, didn't think of borrowing Kenny, didn't think of what it must have looked like, Adebisi's plum dark hand wrapped around his dick, pumping him, making him moan -- Ryan bit his bleeding lip again once, hard. When the sounds finally stopped he looked over again and was presented with a clear view of Adebisi's broad and indifferently covered back, moving away from him at Adebisi's usual slow, swaggering pace. There was a shank in Ryan's boot. Ryan let it stay there for the sake of how many people probably saw him step back here in the first place. Another time. End.