Prison Break - Kaleidoscope (4/9)
Title: Kaleidoscope (4/9)
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: T-Bag, Lincoln, Michael
Genre: Gen
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 920
Warnings: Well, this is T-Bag's POV...
Summary: So, yeah, he has to take Burrows’ presence into account.
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T-Bag
He doesn’t know if he wants to kill him or fuck him.
Oh well, that’s not quite true. He does know. He just can’t decide of the order in which he would proceed if the opportunity arose. Too bad it probably won’t happen any time soon since, for now, what lays in Scofield’s brain has more value for Theodore than what lays in his pants. It’s a Tantalus’ torture that makes Teddy smile because, despite all his shortcomings, he can appreciate the irony of the situation.
Not to mention that he has to take into account Burrows’ presence. He gets a tough reminder of this when he turns towards the Fish in the locker room while they’re changing from to their blue overalls to their regular clothes. Pants shoved down his thighs and hips jutting forward, he proudly exposes himself and throws, “See what I’ve got for you, Pretty?”
He expected a reflex glance and a contemptuous sniffle, and then Scofield turning away and ignoring him. Instead of that, the Fish carefully scrutinizes him and, a smirk curling his lips - this is a point that arises no hesitation within Teddy: he knows exactly how he would use Michael’s so pretty mouth - retorts quietly, “Nothing extraordinary. I’ve seen way better.”
Theodore licks his lips, lingering on the hollow of his lower lip, and ponders his answer. The kid is so insolent when he has an audience standing for him - and he has, since Sucre grumbles and Abruzzi sniggers - Teddy could almost laugh.
Burrows doesn’t grumble or snigger, though: he grabs Theodore by the neck of his t-shirt and pushes him backward. His skull rudely hits the wall, the impact making him hear bells ring between his ears. Sink shoves his knee against Theodore’s crotch and, for a short while, the rough contact of the jeans on his sensitive flesh is almost pleasant. He really doesn’t care for Burrows - not his kind of guy - but Theodore has to admit that, currently, pretty much anyone would do the deed. Then the knee presses a little harder, the hands on his neck and shoulders pushes him down, and he’s stuck, smashed, crushed between the wall and Burrows and, shit, Teddy is no fan of pain, not when he’s on the receiving end anyway. Panting, his eyes stinging, he can discern through a haze a sneer on Burrows’ lips.
“You know I was joking, Sink. What happened to your sense of humor?”
“You make a joke like that again and I’ll cut off your balls and shove them down your throat,” Lincoln tells him. Well. Not an original or imaginative threat by a long shot, but the conviction in his tone quite makes up for that. Burrows slightly bends backward and, when he looks down, he smiles, the same condescending smile his brother had a few seconds ago. “Nothing left to see, uh, T-Bag?” he points out and gently pats his shoulder.
So, yeah, he has to take Burrows’ presence into account. The idea bugs and bothers him while he painfully dresses again, walks in the hallways and through the doors and gates to his cell. When he falls onto his bunk, his back to the wall, Seth kneels in front of him with resignation. He lightly kicks the kid in the shoulder, pushing him back, unable to find comfort in the thought that he needed only a few days to tame his latest boy toy.
“Go see Trokey and ask him if you can do something nice for him.” Not that he likes to share what’s been offered to him, but he would do anything to avoid sitting here and endure the sequels of Burrows’ humiliation. “Come on, boy! Get lost.”
Seth walks backwards to the door, not quite sure whether this is a respite or a more terrible torment. With a smug smile - he will at least have this victory - T-Bag rolls on himself and lies on his back, an arm hiding his face. He can’t keep his eyes close for long, though, because each time, Burrows’ face, distorted with rage, comes back to his memory. It’s a disturbing image. There was, in Sink’s eyes and voice, this righteous fury, an unspeakable anger and disgust implicitly expressing the measure and purity of his affection, of his love for his brother. T-Bag is not sure he inspired and felt himself such feelings, he strongly doubts he will ever feel them and he knows he will never inspire them. Or maybe for a so fleeting moment with contempt and disgust at the end of it all.
He turns over on his side and sneers with derision. The measure and purity of love. He didn’t remember that physical pain made him lapse into sentimentalism like that. He focuses on more comforting ideas, on the image of Scofield. In his thoughts, he forces his mouth, muses over the way the Fish would have to bend and bow if Theodore pushed him on all fours or, on the contrary, made him spread his legs and exposed him.
The fantasy elicits a wave of pleasure that is quickly replaced with a sharp pain and brings him back to reality. He suddenly realizes that he still doesn’t know what he wants. He wants to hear Scofield beg, that’s for sure. Whether he wants him to beg to stop or implore Teddy to continue, he hasn’t decided of the details yet, but he sure does want Pretty to beg.
What he can’t tell, however, is if he wants Scofield or what Scofield and his brother share.
* * *
Comments are always welcome.
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Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: T-Bag, Lincoln, Michael
Genre: Gen
Rating: R
Word Count: ~ 920
Warnings: Well, this is T-Bag's POV...
Summary: So, yeah, he has to take Burrows’ presence into account.
Previous / Next part
T-Bag
He doesn’t know if he wants to kill him or fuck him.
Oh well, that’s not quite true. He does know. He just can’t decide of the order in which he would proceed if the opportunity arose. Too bad it probably won’t happen any time soon since, for now, what lays in Scofield’s brain has more value for Theodore than what lays in his pants. It’s a Tantalus’ torture that makes Teddy smile because, despite all his shortcomings, he can appreciate the irony of the situation.
Not to mention that he has to take into account Burrows’ presence. He gets a tough reminder of this when he turns towards the Fish in the locker room while they’re changing from to their blue overalls to their regular clothes. Pants shoved down his thighs and hips jutting forward, he proudly exposes himself and throws, “See what I’ve got for you, Pretty?”
He expected a reflex glance and a contemptuous sniffle, and then Scofield turning away and ignoring him. Instead of that, the Fish carefully scrutinizes him and, a smirk curling his lips - this is a point that arises no hesitation within Teddy: he knows exactly how he would use Michael’s so pretty mouth - retorts quietly, “Nothing extraordinary. I’ve seen way better.”
Theodore licks his lips, lingering on the hollow of his lower lip, and ponders his answer. The kid is so insolent when he has an audience standing for him - and he has, since Sucre grumbles and Abruzzi sniggers - Teddy could almost laugh.
Burrows doesn’t grumble or snigger, though: he grabs Theodore by the neck of his t-shirt and pushes him backward. His skull rudely hits the wall, the impact making him hear bells ring between his ears. Sink shoves his knee against Theodore’s crotch and, for a short while, the rough contact of the jeans on his sensitive flesh is almost pleasant. He really doesn’t care for Burrows - not his kind of guy - but Theodore has to admit that, currently, pretty much anyone would do the deed. Then the knee presses a little harder, the hands on his neck and shoulders pushes him down, and he’s stuck, smashed, crushed between the wall and Burrows and, shit, Teddy is no fan of pain, not when he’s on the receiving end anyway. Panting, his eyes stinging, he can discern through a haze a sneer on Burrows’ lips.
“You know I was joking, Sink. What happened to your sense of humor?”
“You make a joke like that again and I’ll cut off your balls and shove them down your throat,” Lincoln tells him. Well. Not an original or imaginative threat by a long shot, but the conviction in his tone quite makes up for that. Burrows slightly bends backward and, when he looks down, he smiles, the same condescending smile his brother had a few seconds ago. “Nothing left to see, uh, T-Bag?” he points out and gently pats his shoulder.
So, yeah, he has to take Burrows’ presence into account. The idea bugs and bothers him while he painfully dresses again, walks in the hallways and through the doors and gates to his cell. When he falls onto his bunk, his back to the wall, Seth kneels in front of him with resignation. He lightly kicks the kid in the shoulder, pushing him back, unable to find comfort in the thought that he needed only a few days to tame his latest boy toy.
“Go see Trokey and ask him if you can do something nice for him.” Not that he likes to share what’s been offered to him, but he would do anything to avoid sitting here and endure the sequels of Burrows’ humiliation. “Come on, boy! Get lost.”
Seth walks backwards to the door, not quite sure whether this is a respite or a more terrible torment. With a smug smile - he will at least have this victory - T-Bag rolls on himself and lies on his back, an arm hiding his face. He can’t keep his eyes close for long, though, because each time, Burrows’ face, distorted with rage, comes back to his memory. It’s a disturbing image. There was, in Sink’s eyes and voice, this righteous fury, an unspeakable anger and disgust implicitly expressing the measure and purity of his affection, of his love for his brother. T-Bag is not sure he inspired and felt himself such feelings, he strongly doubts he will ever feel them and he knows he will never inspire them. Or maybe for a so fleeting moment with contempt and disgust at the end of it all.
He turns over on his side and sneers with derision. The measure and purity of love. He didn’t remember that physical pain made him lapse into sentimentalism like that. He focuses on more comforting ideas, on the image of Scofield. In his thoughts, he forces his mouth, muses over the way the Fish would have to bend and bow if Theodore pushed him on all fours or, on the contrary, made him spread his legs and exposed him.
The fantasy elicits a wave of pleasure that is quickly replaced with a sharp pain and brings him back to reality. He suddenly realizes that he still doesn’t know what he wants. He wants to hear Scofield beg, that’s for sure. Whether he wants him to beg to stop or implore Teddy to continue, he hasn’t decided of the details yet, but he sure does want Pretty to beg.
What he can’t tell, however, is if he wants Scofield or what Scofield and his brother share.
* * *
Comments are always welcome.
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