Wise Men Run, (2/?)
Title:Wise Men Run
Author:Aireyail
Pairing/Characters:onesided(for now) T-Bag/Michael, implied Michael/Sara
Category:Slash
Rating:PG-13
Summary:AU, After Gretchen and Bagwell sell Scylla, Bagwell has gotten what he's always wanted-freedom and Michael. Can he finally settle down now and rest, or is that too much to hope for? A visit to his aunt in Manhattan Island might be the break he's always wanted or the nightmare he cannot escape.
Michael knows he's in trouble when he wakes up in an odd room to one, Theodore Bagwell. Trying to make nice with T-Bag is not one of Michael's finer points. Can he flee Bagwell and his domineering Mafia Family? In the end, will he even want to?
Spoilers:none, possible S4 spoilers in later chapters
Warnings: AU, explicit sexual situations, dub-con
Disclaimer: Prison Break and all related elements and characters are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television. This is a fan story in no way affiliated with any of the above copyright and trademark holders of Prison Break. I make no money off of these writings.
Michael awoke by the light of the early morning sun streaming through the blinds from the only window at the back of the stifling bullion room. He smelled something mouth-watering wafting through the cracks of the slightly opened door, into his room, and up his nose. The aroma was tangy and sweet and it gave the impression of warmth in his sleep addled mind. It felt as if he hadn't consumed anything in days.
He had a wonderful dream that Lincoln had made his renowned chocolate chip pancakes, for his baby brother, like old times. Michael presumed this wasn't the case though as lovely as it sounded.
He remembered what happened last night. His nice shirt, the one Sucre bought as a present for his belated birthday, was crumpled and falling from his shoulders. Michael's thighs felt sticky and he removed the wrinkled duvet to observe the damage. No wounds, but his legs were covered with his and Theodore's dry semen. It felt grimy when his thighs brushed together and he wanted a scorching shower.
The red door creaked on its hinges and both Theodore and Michael looked startled as Theodore pushed through the door with a tray full of syrup covered flapjacks. Theodore looked at least embarrassed and a little misplaced as he tried to speak, "Oh, uh...Pretty. 'bout Sara-."
"She's not here, is she," Michael spoke softly. He felt livid, but he had no clue as to what he would do. He needed to get back to Lincoln and the others. He pulled down the edge of the material from his creamy white and slightly ruined shirt to better cover himself and realized his head felt more lucid than the night before.
"No, she isn't," Theodore said brusquely. He noticed Michael scowling but holding out his hands for the tray, and Theodore understood he wouldn't have to elucidate why he brought the flapjacks in, as he put the tray in Michael's outstretched arms. He pointed to his head with the prosthetic hand, tapping it lightly against his temple, "Your head. It feelin' alright?"
Michael ate away insatiably at the steaming flapjacks and Theodore sensed the corners of his lips twitching upward into a grin. "Feels fine," Michael answered between mouthfuls, curiously peeking up at Theodore through his soot colored lashes witnessing the grin then suddenly dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter, "Oh, God. You poisoned it," Michael added, blanching.
Theodore's eyebrows shot upward and he chuckled a bit before, "Now, Pretty, do you really think I'd go through all that trouble of duplicatin' my Auntie's recipe just t'kill yuh off? I'm sure there's better ways."
Michael grumbled but picked the fork back up to attack the pile of flapjacks again. "I need a shower," Michael breathed impatiently around a mouthful, his eyes judging Theodore's movement vigilantly.
"Then you'll get one," Theodore replied, running a hand from side to side in his own recently wet hair. "You can shower after you eat," he said, pointing with his good hand to another red door that Michael had overlooked, "The bathroom is right over there. You'll have to put on your clothes from last night. Then we're leaving." He watched for Michael's reaction as he leaned against the doorframe.
Michael looked annoyed and Theodore couldn't help but to find Scofield's response pleasing. "We're leaving," Michael questioned, frustrated.
"Yep, we gotta disappear," Theodore stated in a matter of fact tone, smirking and crossing his arms.
Michael set the tray aside roughly and covered his face with his hands. He was more than annoyed at the moment, he was furious. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before he asked, "Where are we disappearing to?"
Theodore beamed brightly, "New York."
*****
Michael felt cramped sitting in the front passenger's seat of the lackluster '02 Hyundai Sedan. The former owner of the car had sold it to Theodore for the measly price of a thousand nine hundred and fifty-five dollars, not that it was worth much else.
Illinois turned into Indiana swiftly. It was wintry and bleak outside. Looking out the window at the swaying trees made Michael shiver.
He still wore the ruffled clothes he had from last night and even though the shower had helped, he still felt dirty and wanted a clean change of clothes. He fiddled with a crease in the shirt.
Earlier, and to Michael's great displeasure, Theodore had tried bundling him up in one of the Hotel's scarlet blankets, Michael showed he didn't take too kindly to this as he slapped Theodore's hands away. The blanket lay across his lap now, covering Theodore's lap as well.
At this minute, Michael wasn't tied to the seat, unless you counted the seatbelt, and Theodore didn't have a gun. Michael was still a prisoner, felt like a prisoner, he just hadn't found anytime to slip away from Bagwell. No, correction, Theodore made sure he didn't /have/ the time to slip away from him. There was a difference.../really/.
They had been driving for six miserable hours and neither of them had spoken a word. Michael rested his chin on his elbow and his elbow on the passenger door. The other hand stopped its fiddling to relax against the car heater as he searched for more warmth.
Out of the corner of one grey eye Michael could see Theodore's fatigued expression. They would probably stop at the next town. He could make out brightly colored lights in the far distance. Not New York but they were drawing closer.
Michael tried to make small conversation to fill in the white noise, "So, what will /we/ do once /we/ get to New York," he sighed.
Theodore glanced at him quickly, almost staggered, before turning his head back toward the road. "I got an auntie in Manhattan. We'll be stayin' with her a few days. Possibly more."
Michael placed his full attention on Theodore, glad to escape the silence. "That's peculiar. I thought all your relatives had died."
Theodore exhaled a tad noisily and explained, rubbing his slowly growing in goatee. "She's my auntie by marriage. Uncle died awhile ago, but I think she'd like t'see me."
Michael stared out the passenger window again, this time at the stark black ravens balancing on the power lines that ran vertically with the road, "I don't see how anyone would like to see you," he mumbled into his palm.
Theodore grinded his teeth together firmly and gripped the steering wheel hard. "Yuh better watch your mouth, Pretty." The steering wheel squeaked under the pressure.
"Sorry," Michael said unapologetically, turning to look at Theodore once more with some caution. Curiously he inquired, "What does she do for a living?"
Theodore loosened his hold and tipped his head toward Michael with a smile and responded, "She's Manhattan Island's Mafia Queen."
Michael choked on his own bitter saliva and concealed his mouth with his hands in mortification. "God, your aunt's a Mob Boss?"
"Runs the best damn Mafia Family in New York," Theodore admonished, playing with the car mirror so he could get a better look at himself and maybe sneak a quick look at Michael. "Works the tertiary sector," he included in their chat. Theodore smiled fondly at the road, "If yuh ask she'll probably tell yuh she works importin' fine china down from Italy."
Michael's interest was peaked, "Does she?"
Theodore chuckled, "Of course, how else is she gonna explain that lush lil' residence of hers. Yuh can't be pullin' in cash like that with no excuse."
Michael grinned looking out the passenger side window. "And I thought Abruzzi would be the only Mob Boss I'd ever associate with." Michael observed the downy grey clouds tiredly and rested his head against the window.
Theodore eased back into his seat comfortably. "Well, Abruzzi wasn't the only one with connections. I jus' preferred to keep some of my Aces up my sleeve."
"Is that so?" Michael's eyes crinkled at the corners in humor. Theodore nearly smiled back. "I recall several times those Aces could've been put to vast use for you." Almost laughing in amusement, Michael dug blunt nails into his palm.
Conversation with Theodore had been practically normal. Michael could nearly forget all the wickedness Theodore had done and the wickedness he was doing now. Harking back up those recent memories however, Michael could not forgive and forget so easily.
Theodore sensed the sudden change in atmosphere in the minute space he and Michael shared. Michael looked as if to be nodding off in spite of this and Theodore decided to leave it alone as he watched Michael's eyelashes flutter close and his breath deepen.
Watching Michael sleep made Theodore feel like his stomach was in a flurried mess. It couldn't be affection or adoration. He wasn't in love with Michael. Michael was just a companion, a whore, someone to tend to his every whim. That was all he would ever be to Theodore, and once Theodore grew bored of him, he'd throw him away, like an old doll. Because that's what Michael was a symbol of, an enticing freshly painted marionette. He wasn't in love.
*****
"Hey, Scofield, wake up." Michael jerked awake at the sudden powerful tug on his upper arm. Somewhere along the way there was a light snowfall and the road was covered in a thin layer of frosty sheen.
Michael pulled the cherry coverlet tighter around his frame as he stepped out of the car and felt the icy wind stroke his skin. Theodore dragged him away from the car and closer to a dully colored red and yellow building. Michael brushed off the older man's hands as he steadied himself on the wet pavement.
After investigating several signs around him, Michael concluded they still resided in Indiana. He gazed up at a red and yellow sign reading, 'Super 8 Motel.' Not fancy like the Kingdom, but he presumed it was suitable for whatever Bagwell intended to do.
He could make out faint barking a few feet away and turned to see a mom and pop's pet shop decked out in bright Christmas lights with a couple of fuzzy faces and wagging tails peering out the windows.
Michael wanted to take a look. He had never owned a pet while growing up with Lincoln; his numerous foster parents had never let him keep one. He had always wanted a dog, but he wasn't about to ask Theodore like a child if he could take a closer look.
Michael was lugged by the elbow once again and pushed into the warm entrance of the Super 8 Motel. He sat down in the frayed grey chair next to the doorway and watched Theodore make his way up to the counter. The hearty old man situated at the counter typed away busily on a keyboard with a poorly flickering computer screen, while Theodore was gesturing ostentatiously in his usual fashion.
Michael scrutinized the distance between himself and Bagwell. He inspected the gap between himself and the exit. Theodore was occupied with the clerk and struggling with his good hand to grasp some cash in his back pocket.
Michael bit his lip. This was it. He had to run /now/. Adrenaline pumping full force through his veins, he tossed the cherry coverlet to the ground. Driving himself at the doors, at complete strength, he was out sprinting to the other side of the crowded street in five seconds flat.
Theodore whipped back around at the loud clang of the Super 8 Motel doors slamming together fiercely. The scarlet sheet dragged from the hotel was pooled like a puddle at the bottom of the seat Michael had taken. He could make out Michael's back clothed in the rumpled attire from last night swiftly making its way opposite of the motel's street.
His legs snapped into action, propelling him toward the doors and Michael who was a considerable distance away. As Theodore ran into the street his knee barely knocked into an oncoming car and he was nearly sideswiped by another. Feeling as numb as he ever had been by the instant piston-like pressure coercing through his vessels he kept darting his way after Scofield.
Michael's breath was coming in short rapid bursts of hot air. His heart beat rhythmically and deafeningly in his ears. He could feel the hot burn of blood flooding his cheeks.
Theodore was behind him. He could hear the cracking of his shoes hitting the chipped asphalt maybe nine or ten paces back.
Author:Aireyail
Pairing/Characters:onesided(for now) T-Bag/Michael, implied Michael/Sara
Category:Slash
Rating:PG-13
Summary:AU, After Gretchen and Bagwell sell Scylla, Bagwell has gotten what he's always wanted-freedom and Michael. Can he finally settle down now and rest, or is that too much to hope for? A visit to his aunt in Manhattan Island might be the break he's always wanted or the nightmare he cannot escape.
Michael knows he's in trouble when he wakes up in an odd room to one, Theodore Bagwell. Trying to make nice with T-Bag is not one of Michael's finer points. Can he flee Bagwell and his domineering Mafia Family? In the end, will he even want to?
Spoilers:none, possible S4 spoilers in later chapters
Warnings: AU, explicit sexual situations, dub-con
Disclaimer: Prison Break and all related elements and characters are copyright Paul Scheuring, 20th Century Fox Television, Adelstein-Parouse Productions, and Original Television. This is a fan story in no way affiliated with any of the above copyright and trademark holders of Prison Break. I make no money off of these writings.
Michael awoke by the light of the early morning sun streaming through the blinds from the only window at the back of the stifling bullion room. He smelled something mouth-watering wafting through the cracks of the slightly opened door, into his room, and up his nose. The aroma was tangy and sweet and it gave the impression of warmth in his sleep addled mind. It felt as if he hadn't consumed anything in days.
He had a wonderful dream that Lincoln had made his renowned chocolate chip pancakes, for his baby brother, like old times. Michael presumed this wasn't the case though as lovely as it sounded.
He remembered what happened last night. His nice shirt, the one Sucre bought as a present for his belated birthday, was crumpled and falling from his shoulders. Michael's thighs felt sticky and he removed the wrinkled duvet to observe the damage. No wounds, but his legs were covered with his and Theodore's dry semen. It felt grimy when his thighs brushed together and he wanted a scorching shower.
The red door creaked on its hinges and both Theodore and Michael looked startled as Theodore pushed through the door with a tray full of syrup covered flapjacks. Theodore looked at least embarrassed and a little misplaced as he tried to speak, "Oh, uh...Pretty. 'bout Sara-."
"She's not here, is she," Michael spoke softly. He felt livid, but he had no clue as to what he would do. He needed to get back to Lincoln and the others. He pulled down the edge of the material from his creamy white and slightly ruined shirt to better cover himself and realized his head felt more lucid than the night before.
"No, she isn't," Theodore said brusquely. He noticed Michael scowling but holding out his hands for the tray, and Theodore understood he wouldn't have to elucidate why he brought the flapjacks in, as he put the tray in Michael's outstretched arms. He pointed to his head with the prosthetic hand, tapping it lightly against his temple, "Your head. It feelin' alright?"
Michael ate away insatiably at the steaming flapjacks and Theodore sensed the corners of his lips twitching upward into a grin. "Feels fine," Michael answered between mouthfuls, curiously peeking up at Theodore through his soot colored lashes witnessing the grin then suddenly dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter, "Oh, God. You poisoned it," Michael added, blanching.
Theodore's eyebrows shot upward and he chuckled a bit before, "Now, Pretty, do you really think I'd go through all that trouble of duplicatin' my Auntie's recipe just t'kill yuh off? I'm sure there's better ways."
Michael grumbled but picked the fork back up to attack the pile of flapjacks again. "I need a shower," Michael breathed impatiently around a mouthful, his eyes judging Theodore's movement vigilantly.
"Then you'll get one," Theodore replied, running a hand from side to side in his own recently wet hair. "You can shower after you eat," he said, pointing with his good hand to another red door that Michael had overlooked, "The bathroom is right over there. You'll have to put on your clothes from last night. Then we're leaving." He watched for Michael's reaction as he leaned against the doorframe.
Michael looked annoyed and Theodore couldn't help but to find Scofield's response pleasing. "We're leaving," Michael questioned, frustrated.
"Yep, we gotta disappear," Theodore stated in a matter of fact tone, smirking and crossing his arms.
Michael set the tray aside roughly and covered his face with his hands. He was more than annoyed at the moment, he was furious. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before he asked, "Where are we disappearing to?"
Theodore beamed brightly, "New York."
*****
Michael felt cramped sitting in the front passenger's seat of the lackluster '02 Hyundai Sedan. The former owner of the car had sold it to Theodore for the measly price of a thousand nine hundred and fifty-five dollars, not that it was worth much else.
Illinois turned into Indiana swiftly. It was wintry and bleak outside. Looking out the window at the swaying trees made Michael shiver.
He still wore the ruffled clothes he had from last night and even though the shower had helped, he still felt dirty and wanted a clean change of clothes. He fiddled with a crease in the shirt.
Earlier, and to Michael's great displeasure, Theodore had tried bundling him up in one of the Hotel's scarlet blankets, Michael showed he didn't take too kindly to this as he slapped Theodore's hands away. The blanket lay across his lap now, covering Theodore's lap as well.
At this minute, Michael wasn't tied to the seat, unless you counted the seatbelt, and Theodore didn't have a gun. Michael was still a prisoner, felt like a prisoner, he just hadn't found anytime to slip away from Bagwell. No, correction, Theodore made sure he didn't /have/ the time to slip away from him. There was a difference.../really/.
They had been driving for six miserable hours and neither of them had spoken a word. Michael rested his chin on his elbow and his elbow on the passenger door. The other hand stopped its fiddling to relax against the car heater as he searched for more warmth.
Out of the corner of one grey eye Michael could see Theodore's fatigued expression. They would probably stop at the next town. He could make out brightly colored lights in the far distance. Not New York but they were drawing closer.
Michael tried to make small conversation to fill in the white noise, "So, what will /we/ do once /we/ get to New York," he sighed.
Theodore glanced at him quickly, almost staggered, before turning his head back toward the road. "I got an auntie in Manhattan. We'll be stayin' with her a few days. Possibly more."
Michael placed his full attention on Theodore, glad to escape the silence. "That's peculiar. I thought all your relatives had died."
Theodore exhaled a tad noisily and explained, rubbing his slowly growing in goatee. "She's my auntie by marriage. Uncle died awhile ago, but I think she'd like t'see me."
Michael stared out the passenger window again, this time at the stark black ravens balancing on the power lines that ran vertically with the road, "I don't see how anyone would like to see you," he mumbled into his palm.
Theodore grinded his teeth together firmly and gripped the steering wheel hard. "Yuh better watch your mouth, Pretty." The steering wheel squeaked under the pressure.
"Sorry," Michael said unapologetically, turning to look at Theodore once more with some caution. Curiously he inquired, "What does she do for a living?"
Theodore loosened his hold and tipped his head toward Michael with a smile and responded, "She's Manhattan Island's Mafia Queen."
Michael choked on his own bitter saliva and concealed his mouth with his hands in mortification. "God, your aunt's a Mob Boss?"
"Runs the best damn Mafia Family in New York," Theodore admonished, playing with the car mirror so he could get a better look at himself and maybe sneak a quick look at Michael. "Works the tertiary sector," he included in their chat. Theodore smiled fondly at the road, "If yuh ask she'll probably tell yuh she works importin' fine china down from Italy."
Michael's interest was peaked, "Does she?"
Theodore chuckled, "Of course, how else is she gonna explain that lush lil' residence of hers. Yuh can't be pullin' in cash like that with no excuse."
Michael grinned looking out the passenger side window. "And I thought Abruzzi would be the only Mob Boss I'd ever associate with." Michael observed the downy grey clouds tiredly and rested his head against the window.
Theodore eased back into his seat comfortably. "Well, Abruzzi wasn't the only one with connections. I jus' preferred to keep some of my Aces up my sleeve."
"Is that so?" Michael's eyes crinkled at the corners in humor. Theodore nearly smiled back. "I recall several times those Aces could've been put to vast use for you." Almost laughing in amusement, Michael dug blunt nails into his palm.
Conversation with Theodore had been practically normal. Michael could nearly forget all the wickedness Theodore had done and the wickedness he was doing now. Harking back up those recent memories however, Michael could not forgive and forget so easily.
Theodore sensed the sudden change in atmosphere in the minute space he and Michael shared. Michael looked as if to be nodding off in spite of this and Theodore decided to leave it alone as he watched Michael's eyelashes flutter close and his breath deepen.
Watching Michael sleep made Theodore feel like his stomach was in a flurried mess. It couldn't be affection or adoration. He wasn't in love with Michael. Michael was just a companion, a whore, someone to tend to his every whim. That was all he would ever be to Theodore, and once Theodore grew bored of him, he'd throw him away, like an old doll. Because that's what Michael was a symbol of, an enticing freshly painted marionette. He wasn't in love.
*****
"Hey, Scofield, wake up." Michael jerked awake at the sudden powerful tug on his upper arm. Somewhere along the way there was a light snowfall and the road was covered in a thin layer of frosty sheen.
Michael pulled the cherry coverlet tighter around his frame as he stepped out of the car and felt the icy wind stroke his skin. Theodore dragged him away from the car and closer to a dully colored red and yellow building. Michael brushed off the older man's hands as he steadied himself on the wet pavement.
After investigating several signs around him, Michael concluded they still resided in Indiana. He gazed up at a red and yellow sign reading, 'Super 8 Motel.' Not fancy like the Kingdom, but he presumed it was suitable for whatever Bagwell intended to do.
He could make out faint barking a few feet away and turned to see a mom and pop's pet shop decked out in bright Christmas lights with a couple of fuzzy faces and wagging tails peering out the windows.
Michael wanted to take a look. He had never owned a pet while growing up with Lincoln; his numerous foster parents had never let him keep one. He had always wanted a dog, but he wasn't about to ask Theodore like a child if he could take a closer look.
Michael was lugged by the elbow once again and pushed into the warm entrance of the Super 8 Motel. He sat down in the frayed grey chair next to the doorway and watched Theodore make his way up to the counter. The hearty old man situated at the counter typed away busily on a keyboard with a poorly flickering computer screen, while Theodore was gesturing ostentatiously in his usual fashion.
Michael scrutinized the distance between himself and Bagwell. He inspected the gap between himself and the exit. Theodore was occupied with the clerk and struggling with his good hand to grasp some cash in his back pocket.
Michael bit his lip. This was it. He had to run /now/. Adrenaline pumping full force through his veins, he tossed the cherry coverlet to the ground. Driving himself at the doors, at complete strength, he was out sprinting to the other side of the crowded street in five seconds flat.
Theodore whipped back around at the loud clang of the Super 8 Motel doors slamming together fiercely. The scarlet sheet dragged from the hotel was pooled like a puddle at the bottom of the seat Michael had taken. He could make out Michael's back clothed in the rumpled attire from last night swiftly making its way opposite of the motel's street.
His legs snapped into action, propelling him toward the doors and Michael who was a considerable distance away. As Theodore ran into the street his knee barely knocked into an oncoming car and he was nearly sideswiped by another. Feeling as numb as he ever had been by the instant piston-like pressure coercing through his vessels he kept darting his way after Scofield.
Michael's breath was coming in short rapid bursts of hot air. His heart beat rhythmically and deafeningly in his ears. He could feel the hot burn of blood flooding his cheeks.
Theodore was behind him. He could hear the cracking of his shoes hitting the chipped asphalt maybe nine or ten paces back.