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Title: Porcelain Doll
Author: bitterfig Fandom: Prison Break Pairing: Scofield/T-bag Rating: NC-17 Author's Notes:
This is like the dirtiest thing I've ever written but I'm a bit of a
prude so it might not be that dirty. Still some warnings: includes
knife play and a fairly graphic hand-job.
T-Bag trailed his hand over Michael’s chest in passing. Michael grabbed him by the wrist crushingly, pushed his hand away. “Keep your filthy hands off me,” Michael snapped. T-Bag only smiled. Michael gritted his teeth angrily. “Where do you think this is going T-Bag? Do you really think I would ever let you touch me?” “I know you wouldn’t Pretty,” T-Bag drawled softly. “But I have to keep trying, don’t I.” “No, you don’t.” “I know I can’t touch you,” T-Bag went on, drawing close his lips near Michael’s ear. “No one touches you, do they? You’re impervious, just as hard and cold and pretty as a porcelain doll. Who would you let touch you? Who’s good enough? That brother of yours maybe?” “Don’t go there.” Michael warned. “You’re the little brother with him,” T-Bag purred to him. “I can see it. You got the money and the education, you’ve got the plan, you’re in charge with everyone else but with him you’re the little brother.” “You don’t know anything about Lincoln and I.” “What I do know is you don’t want me touching you, but there are other ways of doing things. You can touch me. You’re touching me right now. You’ve got your hand on me as we speak, your fingers diggin’ in.” Michael clenched T-Bag’s wrist even tighter. “That’s right. You’re in control Pretty. I know you need to be in control. I don’t mind. Let me tell you a secret, I’ve never been in control in my whole life.” Michael frowned, he didn’t like how much the idea appealed to him. He didn’t like how good it felt to have T-Bag’s wrist locked in his fist. He grabbed T-Bag’s other wrist, pinned both his hands against the wall. “That’s right pretty, you’re proving my point,” T-Bag said, clearly pleased. “Shut up,” Michael said. He pressed his hips to T-Bag’s. The other man moved against him. Michael drew back and T-Bag writhed against the wall, straining to reach him. Michael felt a rush of adrenaline, his heart beating faster. Everything seemed clear, in his power. He hated to admit it but T-Bag was right. Control was like a drug for him. He could take this man before him, take him in his hands and fold him like origami. Turn him into whatever he wanted. He could, and he wanted to. He wanted to drive T-Bag crazy and feel nothing himself. “Turn around,” Michael ordered. “That’s what I like to hear,” T-Bag said lewdly, his tongue playing over his lips. “Unbutton your shirt.” T-Bag was wearing a long-sleeved standard issue blue shirt over his t-shirt. After he’d undone the buttons Michael pulled it down from his shoulders. Leaving the sleeves in place he twisted and tied the tails binding T-Bag’s arms behind his back. “I don’t recall agreeing to this,” T-Bag said, an edge of alarm but also of excitement creeping into his voice. “You agreed that this is my game.” Michael said coldly and started searching him. “If you’re trying to feel me up Pretty your technique could use some work.” T-Bag said nervously. Michael ignored him, kept going until he located T-Bag’s shank tucked in his sock. “I’ve found what I’m looking for,” Michael said then added, “Teddy.” It was the first time Michael had ever used T-Bag’s real name instead of the mask of a jailhouse nickname. Not just his real name but its affectionate derivative. In his mouth it sounded way too intimate. Hearing it they both understood that some line was being crossed. “You shouldn’t pull a blade unless you plan to use it,” T-Bag said. Michael calmly drew the shank across his rips, slicing through the cloth of his t-shirt drawing a line of blood. T-Bag cried out more in surprise then pain. Michael clamped a hand over his mouth. “You scream and we’re done, understand?” T-Bag nodded and Michael removed his hand. “Good. Michael moved behind T-Bag, caught his hair and pulled his head around, kissing him deeply, violently. Even as he did running the flat of the knife across T-Bag’s chest, letting the edge of the blade just graze his nipples through the t-shirt. He let go of T-Bag’s hair sliding his free hand under the shirt, across his bare stomach letting it rest in the hollow between his ribs where he could feel T-Bag’s diaphragm rising and falling. Putting the knife to his throat Michael breathed heavily into T-Bag’s ear and felt the motions of his breathing grow faster. He swooped the knife across T-Bag’s chest, drawing blood. The man’s breathing escalated even more, almost to the point of hyperventilation. Michael changed course, nuzzling his face against T-Bag’s he kissed him again, slowly, gently this time whispering soothingly, reassuringly. “I won’t hurt you Teddy. I’m not going to hurt you.” Gradually T-Bag’s breathing slowed back to normal under Michael’s hand. Michael loved it. He loved that he had this power. He unbuttoned T-Bag’s pants, slid his hand down them flush with T-Bag’s lower abdomen. He made another cut higher up, a whimper. “Where should I go Teddy?” Michael asked. “Should I go lower?” “Yes,” T-Bag gasped. “If this hand goes lower,” Michael said pressing his palm against T-Bag’s stomach well beneath his waistband, “then this hand goes lower.” He pressed the flat of the knife against T-Bag’s navel. “Should I go lower?” “Yes.” For the first time he let his hand just barely touch T-Bag’s hard-on. I caused an almost overwhelming response. T-Bag’s hips twitched wildly trying to prolong the contact but they grew still just as quickly when Michael replaced his hand with the blade. “Don’t move Teddy, you’ll hurt yourself.” He whispered. T-Bag whimpered. Frustration? Fear? It was too primal to classify. Holding the knife in place Michael drew him downward until Michael was kneeling and T-Bag lying across his lap. Michael danced the point of the knife teasingly through the other man’s public hair. T-Bag was trying not to squirm; his teeth were clenched, jagged veins standing out in his forehead. Michael traced one with his tongue. Heartbeat. “You’re coiled like a spring,” Michael observed. He laid the knife between T-Bag’s belly and his erect penis then gently lay his hand on top stroking maddeningly. T-Bag moaned like he was in agony, fighting to stay still. No words. He seemed to have passed the point of words some time ago. “I’m taking the knife away now.” Michael whispered. He carefully drew the blade away, letting it fall to the ground. Freed from its threat T-Bag lost himself completely, his hips thrashing grinding himself against Michael’s hand gasping for breath finally convulsing in jerks and wordless cries as he came. For a moment Michael remained still. T-Bag was panting heavily, nuzzling his face between Michael’s legs. Realizing Michael wasn’t hard, that what happened was not going to be reciprocal he also lay still except for the shuddering of his breath. Finally Michael wiped his hand carelessly on T-Bag’s blood stained t-shirt and got to his feet. Almost as an after thought he helped T-Bag up. “You shouldn’t let yourself be used like that,” he said absently as he untied T-Bag’s arms. Michael lingered a moment after that as the other man tried to pull himself together, but he was not watching. His eyes were far away. |
