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Title: Implications
Author: Izzy
Fandom: Prison Break
Pairing: T-bag/Maytag
Rating: NC-17
Author's Notes: Written for PB100, prompt #84 "he",
T-Bag/Maytag claim. Not really a WIP, but since there isn't a
definitive answer from Maytag's side, there may be a continuation of
this line of thinking at some point.
“Kid’s a fag, you know.”
T-Bag barely acknowledged the snickered statement from behind him on the
bleachers. Instead, he watched Maytag standing a ways off, far enough that he
couldn’t hear the important business they were supposedly discussing, though
that business had quickly been abandoned for ragging on the boy. If he’d known,
T-Bag would have let Maytag stay and hear it, might do him good. Build
character. Or just crush his little spirit, didn’t really matter which.
“Bet he’s real easy, right T? Probably begs for it.”
At that, T-Bag perked and frowned at the implication. “Nah, don’t let that face
fool ya. Kid’s a real screamer if he ain’t bein’ choked.”
“Yeah, screams of ecstacy,” the man next to him snorted and pretended to swoon,
and T-Bag’s arm twitched with the urge to carve those batting eyes right out of
his head.
“Y’all think I’d let some queer in my cell? He’s straight as they come, just
broke real good.” He cracked his knuckles and smiled at the appreciative
murmurs. Trokey changed the subject to something about some rughead who’d given
him attitude, but T-Bag had heard it a hundred times before. Sometimes they
could be so whiney.
Maytag was straight. He had to be. He liked all those tawdry pictures other
inmates had and never showed a lick of interest in other men. Besides one. But
that didn’t make him gay, T-Bag figured, just trained real well. If he were gay,
the boy would be runnin’ around lookin’ for tail that would beat him less.
“So, anything good happen?” Maytag mumbled, hunched over and writing in the
corner. No one ever wrote back, but maybe if he harassed his friends enough, one
would give in. “Any crusades, grudges, declarations of war...?” At first he
thought T-Bag was ignoring him, until he glanced over his shoulder and saw he
was being stared at. Somethin’ funny about that look that made him shiver, like
he was being peeled apart piece by piece so everything he was thinking would
spill out onto the floor. “What?”
T-Bag shrugged. “Nothin’.”
“Then stop lookin’ at me like that.”
“Indulge me. You ever do any o’ that experimentation your generation’s always
talkin’ ‘bout?”
Maytag’s forehead wrinkled in confusion as he turned around, “You mean like pot
or meth or...”
“No no no, I mean you’re out with a friend, maybe have one too many, n’ start
thinkin’ ya might kinda like being the one pounded into the sheets for once.”
Despite T-Bag’s conversational tone, Maytag glared at the insinuation.
“Are you fuckin’ serious? I’m no faggot.”
“Come on now, no need to get all upset. Just curious, s’all.”
Maytag returned to his letter with muttered curses, but T-Bag kept watching his
back. Boy didn’t have any of those feminine tendencies, least not much, and he
hadn’t tried to redecorate the cell. All that training must have just really
paid off.
They’d always taught in Sunday school how God had given everyone free will
(followed by the importance of making good choices, but little Theo was usually
too busy drawing naughty things in his illustrated book by that time). Maytag,
on the other hand, had had the free will whipped right out of him. He may not
have always done things with a smile, but he never said no.
Then again, maybe he was choosing to have no free will and follow orders. It was
the kinda paradox that was rather annoying to think about, but it was a good
reason to use the word ‘paradox’ and passed the time well enough.
The thoughts were still bouncing around T-Bag’s mind by the time the lights
flipped off and Maytag offered to hang a sheet before going to bed. It was
usually an easy way to distract T-Bag from a bad mood, but in this case it was
fuel to the fire.
T-Bag watched the boy’s silhouette drape the fabric over the bars with practiced
ease. Even though he couldn’t see his face, he knew there wasn’t the same
furrowed brow and restrained whimpers there were in the beginning. But that
didn’t mean anything, except that he’d intimidated Maytag so far from his former
self that he wanted to be degraded. That was ok. Cell mates just never lived
long enough to get that far.
With even less light making it into the cell and eyes not fully adjusted, Maytag
was just a shadowy figure waiting to be told how T-Bag wanted it. He heard the
creaking of the bed and rustling of fabric and started to pull his own clothes
off, tossing them onto the top bunk for later. He’d grabbed T-Bag’s clothes once
by mistake and didn’t know whether to be more upset by the way he was laughed at
or smacked for being so careless.
“Gonna stand there all night?” T-Bag asked as he scooted over a few inches,
mostly just to keep from being sat on.
With a roll of his eyes, Maytag crawled half onto the bed. He couldn’t fit all
the way without being nearly on top of T-Bag, and if he had to be on the bottom,
that was too much awkward maneuvering. So he stayed perched on the edge, waiting
to be told what to do. He was about to ask when fingers dug into his shoulder
and pushed him further down the bed.
T-Bag wasn’t in the mood to feel the little freak pushing back against him and
mumbling to go faster, not for awhile. All he wanted was to hold that pretty
little head in place and hear nothing but muffled choking sounds. See how he
liked that.
But instead of getting down to business like he should, the mattress sagged as
Maytag planted a hand at either side and pressed warm lips to his hip. Stomach.
Taking his sweet time to reach their mark, and god did it feel good. Too good.
T-Bag pushed his head away with a violent yank to his hair. “The hell you doin’?”
“Huh?” Maytag sat back and rubbed his aching head where his hair had been
pulled. He was kinda glad he couldn’t see T-Bag’s menacing look in the dark,
though knowing it was there just made him harder. “I was just...”
The sentenced died in a yelp of surprise as T-Bag leaned up to grab his head and
pull it down where it belonged. With a few bumps of T-Bag’s cock against his
lips, Maytag obediently opened his mouth and fought to keep his balance as he
was pushed roughly back n’ forth. He couldn’t breathe, and the angle hit the
back of his throat uncomfortably, but he didn’t resist.
The quieter Maytag was, the harder T-Bag thrust into his mouth until he was
making little pained choking sounds. But it felt good, and the boy wasn’t
enjoying it, and he appreciated that even choking with watering eyes, Maytag
kept his teeth carefully out of the way. He’d broken this one damn good.
Maytag’s arms burned and were about to give out by the time T-Bag forced his
head down and kept it there, neatly trimmed nails digging sharply into his skin.
He didn’t mind when T-Bag came in his mouth anymore, but like this he couldn’t
breathe, and he vaguely wondered just how humiliating it would be to die like
that. The thought had probably crossed T-Bag’s mind.
Just before he collapsed from aching muscles and burning lungs, the grip on his
head eased, and Maytag pushed himself up, wiping his mouth on the back of his
hand. Breathing had never felt so good as he tried to slow his pounding heart
rate and stop shaking.
“Out,” T-Bag mumbled and kicked him in the thigh.
Maytag could only nod, even though it probably wasn’t seen, and drag himself off
the bed. It took two tries to pull himself onto the top bunk, but somehow he
managed, and collapsed onto his back. The sheets felt wonderfully cold, and he
could feel his abandoned t-shirt under his leg, but it was too much trouble to
put it on. Long as he remembered before the sheet came down, otherwise T-Bag
would probably make him go out for count naked.
As Maytag panted and shivered, T-Bag stared up at the top bunk in thought. The
boy wasn’t gay. Just well behaved. He assured himself of that as he gave in to
the warm, sleepy feeling and rolled over to thoughts of all the new fun ways he
could use Maytag’s compliance. |
