Protection

by S A Reid

  “Like that? There?” Gabriel whispered.

  “There.” Joey’s eyes were open but unfocused. “There … there … oh …”

  Straightening his back, Gabriel kept at the correct angle, thrusting as hard as he could. Soon his wound was hurting again, hurting like hell, but Joey was trembling, back arched with pleasure, and Gabriel couldn’t leave him unfulfilled. He kept on until Joey went rigid, freezing as if in agony. And when Joey clenched tight inside, Gabriel cried out at the top of his lungs.

  “Joey – oh, Christ – Joey –” Then Gabriel was coming too, cum gushing like blood from a puncture wound. Falling into the other man’s arms, Gabriel buried his face in Joey’s ginger-brown hair.

  “I love you,” he whispered.

  Joey, dazed, looked blissfully up at Gabriel as hoots and scattered applause broke out up and down F-block.

  “Glad you can still get it up, MacKenna!” someone shouted. “Now can the rest of us get some goddamn sleep?”

  * * *

  After that night – Gabriel’s outcry and the cell block rowdiness that followed – one of Wentworth’s more stringent guards cottoned on, taking it upon himself to personally police Gabriel and Joey. Each night Victor Hess walked past their cell at different times, examining their bunks with his torch and listening around corners. Buckland refused to take part in the crusade. But to Joey’s surprise, McCrory joined in.

  “I thought he was your friend,” Joey said to Gabriel over breakfast one morning. Twice now they’d nearly been caught, forcing each man to keep to his own bunk after lights out.

  “So did I. But he’s been a wee bit cold ever since I managed to get the two of us in the same cell.” Gabriel shrugged, scraping up the last of his oatmeal and casting a stern glance at Lonnie. Reluctantly, the pretty blond took up his own spoon, though he seemed disinclined to use it. Lonnie had spent the last two weeks in close company with Gordon Lusk, D-block’s resident demon. Since then he’d begun trying out new airs and even a bit of verbal defiance. But this didn’t extend to Gabriel, so while the other man’s eye was upon him, Lonnie made a show of eating up.

  For weeks it went on, the surprise inspections, waking to an unlocked cell and light shining in the face. Hess lost interest by midsummer. Moving to G-block, he caught three pairs in the act and made certain all got the lash. But McCrory kept up his new vigilance. During the day he interacted as usual with Gabriel – joking, gambling, trading smokes for favors. But at night McCrory went out of his way to patrol F-block, passing through at different times while trying to catch Gabriel and Joey in the act.

  “You’re sure about this?” Joey asked when Gabriel steered him into the prison library’s stacks, Fiction A-Br.

  “Three lookouts. Safe as houses.” Gabriel pressed Joey against a bookshelf, arms encircling him as he kissed Joey’s ear, his cheek, his neck. “God, I’ve missed this.”

  Joey chuckled. They’d met in the garden shed just three days ago, managing a no-holds-barred session while Mr. Cranston was off purchasing a new tiller.

  “You do have your needs.” Joey lifted himself so their cocks rubbed together through the thin barrier of their prison uniforms. “I’m still sore from last time.”

  “Should I kiss it for you?”

  “Mmmm …” Just the teasing mention sent fresh heat into Joey’s cheeks. Once Gabriel had done that, parting Joey’s legs and stabbing up and up with his tongue until Joey came, half from delight and half from shame. There was no part of Joey that Gabriel didn’t want to see, touch, kiss. And each time they made love, Joey surrendered a little more, enjoying the sacrifice even if it left him secret places only inside. And Joey could feel Gabriel pressing on those inner doors, too. Not physically, but with words, glances … the occasional Gaelic endearment after he thought Joey had fallen asleep …

  Gabriel’s hands slid under Joey’s shirt, beginning their slow exploration. Gabriel’s fingers were long and callused, their roughness sending shivers of pleasure along Joey’s flesh. Up his waist they traveled, exploring his chest, digging into his shoulders, stroking his biceps and triceps. Then Gabriel was kissing Joey’s mouth again. One hand tangled in his hair while the other stroked Joey’s flat belly, teasing the curling hair just below it but never delving down.

  “Well?” Gabriel prompted at last. “You said you were sore. A kiss to make it better?”

  Lifting himself again, Joey pressed Gabriel’s hand against the firmness of his crotch. “This is what needs kissing.”

  Making a low, pleased rumble in his throat, Gabriel knelt before him. Unbuttoning Joey’s fly, he drew him out, fastening his lips on the head of Joey’s cock. At first he focused only on the head, tracing its shape with his tongue, exciting it with the rasp of his teeth. Then Gabriel’s hands squeezed Joey’s ass, pressing Joey entirely in his mouth as he sucked the root. At first Joey watched, fascinated by Gabriel, so handsome, so masculine, eyes shut tight as if he enjoyed the action at least as much as Joey did. Then the rising pressure turned unbearable. Digging his fingers into Gabriel’s hair, Joey held the other man steady as he began to thrust. At first Joey was only controlling the motion, setting his own pace. But as climax neared, Joey slammed into Gabriel’s mouth with greater and greater need, using him mercilessly until he unloaded with torturous, perfect spasms.

  “I – I’m sorry,” Joey muttered as he came back to himself. Kneeling beside Gabriel, he was surprised to find the other man smiling. Gabriel’s hair was tousled from Joey’s grip and his eyes had a slightly unfocused look, as if he, too, had reached his destination.

  “Not another man in Wentworth would get so rough with me,” Gabriel panted. “Never been fucked that way, not in the whole of my life.”

  Joey felt a slow grin dawning. He enjoyed the effect he had on Gabriel. Enjoyed seeing the other man grow softer – his gaze, the set of his mouth, the timbre of his voice. “Did you …?”

  “Oh, aye. But leaving a stain on the carpet is an invitation for trouble.” Gabriel showed Joey the wadded handkerchief in his right hand. “And I’ll not risk splattering books, not even the bad ones.”

  More than an hour of common time remained, but Gabriel wasn’t interested in any of the card games in progress, so they walked back to their unlocked cell. Joey took a pen and a sheet of writing paper to his bunk, determined to progress beyond the salutation Dear Julia.

  Since first reading Julia’s letter, Joey had revisited it several times, each time with a greater realization of what it must have cost her to write it. Julia valued loyalty above all other qualities, with the exception of honesty. To be caught between those two traits – to want freedom, want it desperately, while hating herself for it, must have been agony. Joey thought if he could find the correct words – not sanctimonious, not overly cool, not uncomfortably warm – he might be able to help. To give her permission, so to speak, and lessen her guilt when she thought of him behind bars at Wentworth. After that first terrible rush of anguish and self-pity, Joey had been genuinely glad of Julia’s decision. He just didn’t know how to tell her in a way that wouldn’t injure her all over again.

  Gabriel sat down at the small table with a book and a smoke. He wasn’t at either for more than a minute before McCrory and Buckland appeared.

  “MacKenna.” Buckland made a show of rapping on the bars, not entering until Gabriel waved him inside. For every Hess, who lived to put inmates on report, there was a guard like Buckland, mild and easy and willing to permit even criminals their dignity. Joey liked Buckland far better than McCrory, who spoke only to Gabriel and barely met Joey’s eyes at all. Even when they passed in the hall, McCrory physically shrank away, increasing the distance between himself and Joey whenever possible.

  “Is that a fresh deck?” Gabriel asked, pointing at the cards in Buckland’s hand. Joey knew Gabriel well enough to know when the other man was feigning interest. After work detail, supper and their library rendezvous, Gabriel wanted only to read for a time, then sleep. But when the guards asked for a gam
e, he never said no.

  Joey watched for a while, but this game of five-card draw soon went just like the others. Buckland started strong, grew overconfident, and declined to fold once too often, losing an enormous pot to Gabriel. McCrory plodded along with exquisite care, sometimes gaining an excellent hand, only to be disappointed by how quickly Gabriel and Buckland folded. At other times, McCrory would sit up proudly, nodding and smiling, only to have Gabriel instantly call, revealing that McCrory held a pair of deuces or worse.

  “Right. I’m off to G-block,” Buckland sighed, rising. “Wish they’d let us play you cons for real coin. I’d play better for real coin.” He left, but McCrory made no move to follow.

  “I don’t understand.” McCrory sounded so peeved, Joey looked up from his letter, which had progressed no farther than, Dear Julia, I can’t possibly think how to begin …

  “I’ve read three books on poker. I understand the game top to bottom. It’s not possible I should lose so often.” McCrory frowned at Gabriel. “I know Bucky wouldn’t cheat. You’re not cheating, are you, Gabe?”

  Gabriel snorted. “Don’t have to. Go read another book. Try me again in the morning.”

  “Oh.” McCrory stared at Gabriel, then sighed. “I’m hopeless, aren’t I? Right. Tell me why.”

  Gathering his winnings – a pile of loose cigarettes – into a battered old tin, Gabriel made a dismissive noise.

  “Come on, Gabe. Please. I want to know what you think,” McCrory insisted. “I respect you.”

  Gabriel’s hands stopped gathering Pall Malls. He straightened so suddenly, Joey put his letter aside. Something about Gabriel, about his abrupt readiness, reminded Joey of that frozen moment before Gabriel plunged the nail in Paulie’s eye. But when Gabriel spoke, his tone was mild.

  “You don’t respect me.” Sweeping the last cigarette into the tin, Gabriel resealed it.

  “Of course I do.”

  “No, you don’t. Nor do you want to hear what I have to say on the matter.” Gabriel’s face went cold.

  McCrory appeared so stunned, so helpless, Joey almost felt sorry for him. The guard, no more than thirty, had watery blue eyes and a weak chin. Despite his broad shoulders and considerable heft, there was something childlike about the man, now that Joey took the time to see him.

  Gabriel’s stern look softened. “Bill. You’ll never play poker worth a damn ’til you learn to take risks. It’s always the same – you never raise unless you’re sure and you’re always too timid to call. As for a poker face – Jesus, pigtailed girls playing Old Maid are tougher to read. The entire story of Bill McCrory is written across his mug.” Gabriel pointed at the guard with his dog-end. “Including whether he has a bad hand and why he sticks his nose in my cell every night.”

  Joey caught his breath. He didn’t know how to intervene, or if he should try. He wasn’t even sure Gabriel was truly angry, or if he spoke harshly only to make himself understood.

  “I – it’s nothing personal,” McCrory said, drawing in his breath. “But it’s a rule. Prisoners are not permitted to—”

  “Prisoners are not permitted to wager more than one pound sterling’s worth of goods in any single game of chance,” Gabriel snapped, quoting the Wentworth Prisoners’ Handbook. “What do you think we just did? Shall I run to Governor Sanderson and bleat about how you and Buckland tempt me into wickedness?”

  “I never mean to tempt—”

  “And I never meant to tempt you,” Gabriel cut across him. “If you want what I have so badly, go and get it! But I’m sick to death of you spying on me, hoping to get a peek at what you haven’t the guts to try!”

  McCrory sucked in his breath. For a moment he stared at Gabriel. Then he squared his shoulders and left without another word.

  When they heard his heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs, Gabriel turned to Joey. “And now I just bet the whole goddamn pot. Why did you not stop me?”

  “Not sure I could have.” Joey forced a smile to hide how shaken he was. Plenty of inmates shouted at guards, insulted them, took a swing at them. And those inmates always paid the price, either overtly or by more subtle means. “How did you know? About McCrory, I mean.”

  “Ah, well, you play cards with a man long enough, you learn who he is. At first I didn’t understand. Not ’til I realized he couldn’t look you in the eye. Thirty years old, no wife, no girl I ever heard of. I should have guessed sooner.” Gabriel sighed, passing a hand over his face. “And spoke gentler.”

  The overhead lights snapped off. “We still have ten minutes!” someone bawled. By Joey’s watch it was fewer than five, but he’d been at Wentworth long enough to understand the sentiment. It was hard to feel like a man when bedtimes were enforced and sometimes changed on a whim.

  “Joey. If McCrory comes back with the lieutenant governor, say I forced you. Beg for a transfer to a different cell block,” Gabriel said. “’Twill save you from the lash. We can mend things later.”

  Joey couldn’t see Gabriel’s expression in the sudden darkness, but he could imagine it. Hard, stubborn and used to being obeyed. “No.”

  “We’ll still be able to meet. I can still keep you safe. Tell them—”

  “I said no.” Joey slid his arms around Gabriel, pressing his face against his chest and holding him tight. “If you get the lash, so do I. Let’s go to bed.”

  “At least sleep up in your own bunk. If the lieutenant governor—”

  “Gabe. The die is cast. And if I’m due for the lash, I damn sure mean to earn it.”

  * * *

  Joey woke twice in the night, dreaming of torches and unlocked doors, but McCrory never reappeared. Later the next day, word went round the cafeteria that McCrory’s mum had taken ill and he’d gone home to Clerkenwell to keep vigil at her bedside. Gabriel frowned.

  “What is it?” Joey asked.

  “His mum’s been dead for ages,” Gabriel whispered. “Hope the damn fool isn’t planning something drastic.”

  “You could write him a letter. Say things were said in anger. Maybe he’s just afraid to face you.”

  “Inmates cannot post letters or packages to Wentworth staff, or vice versa,” Gabriel said. “To prevent the exchange of contraband. For a man who reads as much as you, I don’t know why you won’t learn the handbook. And how’s your own letter coming along?”

  “I’m finishing it tonight,” Joey said firmly, still uncertain of what he would actually say. “Hell or high water.”

  But an hour after supper, he still had nothing, just a fountain pen and a fresh sheet of paper. Exasperated with himself, Joey thought, I’m literate. University educated. And an Englishman, for heaven’s sake. I can speak to anyone, under any circumstances, without rudeness or undue emotion. It’s in my blood!

  Taking up his pen, he drew in a deep breath and wrote,

  Dear Julia,

  I hope this letter finds you well. It has been unseasonably warm here this autumn but with so little rain, that is perhaps to be expected.

  I am well settled in my new routine. I work in the gardens most days and have ample quiet time at night. I am …

  Joey paused, putting his pen to his mouth and nibbling thoughtfully on the end. After a moment’s consideration he couldn’t resist continuing.

  … fortunate to have a cellmate whose company I enjoy. He shares many of my interests, including my love of reading. I expect when I leave here, my mind will be improved beyond recognition.

  I hope you are quite comfortable in your cousin’s house. Life in London should suit you well and permit you to move in new circles. Never doubt that I think well of you and wish you the very best.

  Your friend,

  Joey

  Before he could second-guess himself, Joey folded the letter and placed it in an envelope. There was no point sealing it; it would be read by the prison censors for approval before posting.

  As autumn passed into winter, Joey grew more and more accustomed to life at Wentworth. McCrory returned after ten days’ ab
sence, thinner, quieter, and no longer inclined to prowl F-block after lights out. Buckland’s wife gave birth to a son; he passed out cigars to several inmates, including Joey and Gabriel. Mr. Cranston wanted to renovate his old hothouse, long disused because of broken windows, but was denied permission due to the high cost of plate glass. Joey suggested the gardener look into old daguerreotype plates, as Lionel Coates had done back home. Sure enough, they could be obtained cheaply, as long as no one objected to ghostly images of unsmiling men and women in the mismatched panes. So Joey spent November helping another inmate repave the hothouse floor as Gabriel shored up the rafters and installed the new windows. It was the first time they’d shared a work detail. Several times each day, often for no particular reason, Joey caught himself looking at Gabriel, usually up a ladder with a hammer in his hand. It was nice to be together in the fresh air, especially with the promise of an undisturbed night to come.

  On 12 December, F-block inmates were allowed visitors from noon until two o’clock. Gabriel, expecting his usual visit from Rebecca Eisenberg, queued up with the other men, most of whom awaited wives or mothers. Joey, reading in the unlocked cell, looked up in surprise when Buckland called, “Cooper! You have a visitor! Miss Pearce.”

  Cooing and whistling broke out amongst the men as Joey hurried to join them. It cut off as Gabriel looked around, startled.

  “It’s Julia,” Joey called.

  “Grand.” Gabriel’s smile showed too many teeth. Turning, he trained his gaze straight ahead, following the man ahead of him.

  * * *

  The visitors’ room overlooked the gardens, currently nothing but barren earth and clumps of old snow. Joey found Julia right away, sitting at the very last table. Her blond hair was thicker than he remembered, the natural wave threatening to escape those neat pin curls. The visitors’ room was very warm, stuffy even, but Julia wore her coat. Not the slim, stylish wrap he remembered but something large and shapeless, unrefined as a horse blanket. Joey dimly recalled Cousin Dora as big-boned and dowdy. Was Julia dressing to please her hostess?