T-Bag/Maytag, "fixed"
Title: Revenge
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #72, "fixed"
Rating: R for violence
Summary: T-Bag defends Maytag's honor and fixes that mean black man good.
Author's Notes: Ok, so I didn't have Maytag say "oh boy, do I!" to T-Bag's question, but you can assume he says that if you want. :D
It smelled like mold and ammonia. Dust and unidentifiable liquid covered the floor, coating the bottoms of his shoes, and making his eyes burn from the dirt in the air. The unglamourous conditions in the storage room aside, Maytag’s heart raced and stinging eyes were open wide at the scene in front of him.
The black inmate lay on the ground against some boxes, blood trickling from his nose and eyes drooping, unable to focus on anything. A few of T-Bag’s boys stood close, ready to hold him down if he regained some strength, but he looked down for the count. T-Bag towered above the barely conscious man, wiping some blood off his knuckles.
“I’d have been happy to leave ya like this, wait for Bellick or the rats to find you, but ya see, you insulted me and my boy. And we can’t have you runnin’ around with such poor manners, can we boys? We need to teach this rughead a little etiquette.” T-Bag turned to see if Maytag was still watching. The light was terrible, and he was staying far away in the corner, but his attention was fixed on T-Bag.
“Now, you were gettin’ awfully pushy yesterday.” T-Bag stepped on the man’s hand, shifting his weight onto one foot as it made a delightful crunching feeling against the concrete. Probably not broken, at least not much, but the man’s screams sounded like it hurt plenty.
“But,” he lifted his foot and stepped back a little, “that can be excused. That filthy mouth of yours, on the other hand...” T-Bag shook his head, temper almost getting the better of him. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him to just cut his throat, shank him in the chest, cover the floor in the nigger’s blood for the maintenance crew to mop up by the bucket. But Maytag was watching, and really, such a quick death was too good for the guy anyway.
Kneeling down, careful to not touch his knee to the mysterious liquid on the ground, T-Bag pulled out his favorite knife, fashioned just right to cut deep and clean. The man’s head lolled to the side, pitiful noises bubbling up from his throat. With one last look to make sure Maytag could see, T-Bag pushed the man’s mouth open and grabbed his tongue, slipping the blade through it in one clean motion.
Maytag bit his lip as one of T-Bag’s boys bent down to muffle the man’s screams, blood leaking out around his fingers. The limp piece of flesh was tossed behind some boxes as T-Bag stood back and admired his handiwork. He wouldn’t bleed out like that, at least not for a good long time. A scraping sound of boot against dirt reminded him of Maytag’s presence, and he moved to stand next to the wide eyed boy.
“Nice, ain’t it?” he said softly, now more interested in Maytag’s reaction than the weakly flailing man on the floor. So captivated, none of the squeamish looks he got from some of his biggest men. Maybe there was more to the little guy than a nice ass and big talk. “You wanna, uh, do the honors?” He held the shank out.
“Oh, um,” Maytag’s mouth was suddenly dry and hands shook as he took it, “I’ve never, uh, stabbed anyone.”
“You’ll figure it out,” T-Bag laughed at Maytag’s discomfort. When he hesitated, T-Bag sighed. “Just push it on in there a few times. Do it enough and you’re bound to hit somethin’ good. Or just cut his throat.” With a slight nod, Maytag knelt down to the barely struggling body and pointed the tip of the shank at his chest.
“We ain’t got all day, someone’s gonna be comin’.” With a deep breath to steel his nerves, Maytag pushed the blade into the man’s chest. It had barely gone in when he met with resistance. This wasn’t nearly as quick and smooth as T-Bag made it look. With more effort he was able to push it all the way in, then again, and again.
T-Bag licked his lips, watching the smug little smile form on Maytag’s face as the man’s shirt was stained deep red. It would have been far more satisfying to finish him off himself, but it really was Maytag who had been insulted, after all. And the fish had guts. A bit awkward and nervous, he’d done well enough.
Maytag stood and took his place back at T-Bag’s side, slipping his bloody hand around the pocket. “Not bad for a first time.” They watched the man bleed out together until his chest rose for the last time.
“Yo, T, better get outta here. Someone’s gonna come lookin’ for ya,” Trokey warned from the door. Maytag looked ready to run screaming from the room at the sudden realization they were standing around with bloody hands and a corpse on the floor.
T-Bag laughed, leading him over to the rusty utility sink. It was a decent start, but the boy had so much more to learn.
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #72, "fixed"
Rating: R for violence
Summary: T-Bag defends Maytag's honor and fixes that mean black man good.
Author's Notes: Ok, so I didn't have Maytag say "oh boy, do I!" to T-Bag's question, but you can assume he says that if you want. :D
It smelled like mold and ammonia. Dust and unidentifiable liquid covered the floor, coating the bottoms of his shoes, and making his eyes burn from the dirt in the air. The unglamourous conditions in the storage room aside, Maytag’s heart raced and stinging eyes were open wide at the scene in front of him.
The black inmate lay on the ground against some boxes, blood trickling from his nose and eyes drooping, unable to focus on anything. A few of T-Bag’s boys stood close, ready to hold him down if he regained some strength, but he looked down for the count. T-Bag towered above the barely conscious man, wiping some blood off his knuckles.
“I’d have been happy to leave ya like this, wait for Bellick or the rats to find you, but ya see, you insulted me and my boy. And we can’t have you runnin’ around with such poor manners, can we boys? We need to teach this rughead a little etiquette.” T-Bag turned to see if Maytag was still watching. The light was terrible, and he was staying far away in the corner, but his attention was fixed on T-Bag.
“Now, you were gettin’ awfully pushy yesterday.” T-Bag stepped on the man’s hand, shifting his weight onto one foot as it made a delightful crunching feeling against the concrete. Probably not broken, at least not much, but the man’s screams sounded like it hurt plenty.
“But,” he lifted his foot and stepped back a little, “that can be excused. That filthy mouth of yours, on the other hand...” T-Bag shook his head, temper almost getting the better of him. Something in the back of his mind screamed at him to just cut his throat, shank him in the chest, cover the floor in the nigger’s blood for the maintenance crew to mop up by the bucket. But Maytag was watching, and really, such a quick death was too good for the guy anyway.
Kneeling down, careful to not touch his knee to the mysterious liquid on the ground, T-Bag pulled out his favorite knife, fashioned just right to cut deep and clean. The man’s head lolled to the side, pitiful noises bubbling up from his throat. With one last look to make sure Maytag could see, T-Bag pushed the man’s mouth open and grabbed his tongue, slipping the blade through it in one clean motion.
Maytag bit his lip as one of T-Bag’s boys bent down to muffle the man’s screams, blood leaking out around his fingers. The limp piece of flesh was tossed behind some boxes as T-Bag stood back and admired his handiwork. He wouldn’t bleed out like that, at least not for a good long time. A scraping sound of boot against dirt reminded him of Maytag’s presence, and he moved to stand next to the wide eyed boy.
“Nice, ain’t it?” he said softly, now more interested in Maytag’s reaction than the weakly flailing man on the floor. So captivated, none of the squeamish looks he got from some of his biggest men. Maybe there was more to the little guy than a nice ass and big talk. “You wanna, uh, do the honors?” He held the shank out.
“Oh, um,” Maytag’s mouth was suddenly dry and hands shook as he took it, “I’ve never, uh, stabbed anyone.”
“You’ll figure it out,” T-Bag laughed at Maytag’s discomfort. When he hesitated, T-Bag sighed. “Just push it on in there a few times. Do it enough and you’re bound to hit somethin’ good. Or just cut his throat.” With a slight nod, Maytag knelt down to the barely struggling body and pointed the tip of the shank at his chest.
“We ain’t got all day, someone’s gonna be comin’.” With a deep breath to steel his nerves, Maytag pushed the blade into the man’s chest. It had barely gone in when he met with resistance. This wasn’t nearly as quick and smooth as T-Bag made it look. With more effort he was able to push it all the way in, then again, and again.
T-Bag licked his lips, watching the smug little smile form on Maytag’s face as the man’s shirt was stained deep red. It would have been far more satisfying to finish him off himself, but it really was Maytag who had been insulted, after all. And the fish had guts. A bit awkward and nervous, he’d done well enough.
Maytag stood and took his place back at T-Bag’s side, slipping his bloody hand around the pocket. “Not bad for a first time.” They watched the man bleed out together until his chest rose for the last time.
“Yo, T, better get outta here. Someone’s gonna come lookin’ for ya,” Trokey warned from the door. Maytag looked ready to run screaming from the room at the sudden realization they were standing around with bloody hands and a corpse on the floor.
T-Bag laughed, leading him over to the rusty utility sink. It was a decent start, but the boy had so much more to learn.