T-Bag, He
Title: Show
Character/Pairing: T-Bag
Prompt: #084. He
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Michael stood on unsteady legs and managed to articulate the words, “Don’t touch him!” before collapsing again.
Author's Notes: Just a T-Bag/Michael drabble. Nothin’ special. Betaed by almostforgiven.
“Always wanted this, Pretty. Always wanted this.”
Two gunshots-bleak, cold, and empty-rang out, followed by two thuds as Burrows and the kid fell to the dusty floorboards, still and lifeless.
“Guns are so impersonal, you know that, Pretty? But sometimes,” T-Bag snapped a fresh clip into his handgun and shoved it into his waistband, “it’s the only way.” He leaned next to the kid’s body and tugged at his pants until they were around his ankles.
Michael stood on unsteady legs and managed to articulate the words, “Don’t touch him!” before collapsing again.
“Ain’t much you can do about it, now is there?”
Michael’s eyes were closed, but the sound alone of T-Bag fucking the body of his nephew was enough to make him vomit.
“Whatcha say, Pretty?” Michael forced his weary eyes open and watched as T-Bag approached. “How do ya want it?”
T-Bag kneeled and ran a finger along Michael’s jaw. “Do you want it . . . quick and painless?” His thumb rubbed small circles around Michael’s cheek. “Or should I make it hurt, hm?”
Michael lifted his arm to grasp T-Bag’s, but it fell back to the floor with a wasted effort.
“An’ I don’t even have to kill ya.” He grasped Michael’s shirt and pulled it up, a hand slipping beneath to trace the ink patterns across Michael’s chest. “Yeah, maybe I oughta keep ya all to myself for a little while.”
Michael took in a shuddering breath as T-Bag’s hands roamed over his body.
“I apologize for the beatin’ I had to give ya, Pretty,” T-Bag murmured, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Thought it’d make for some interesting entertainment for Sink and your pretty little nephew.”
T-Bag removed Michael’s shirt and trailed his tongue down the dark ink indelibly defined across his skin.
“Maybe I shoulda kept them alive a little longer, huh?” He unclasped Michael’s belt and slipped it from the belt loops. “They sure are gonna miss one helluva show.”
Character/Pairing: T-Bag
Prompt: #084. He
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Michael stood on unsteady legs and managed to articulate the words, “Don’t touch him!” before collapsing again.
Author's Notes: Just a T-Bag/Michael drabble. Nothin’ special. Betaed by almostforgiven.
“Always wanted this, Pretty. Always wanted this.”
Two gunshots-bleak, cold, and empty-rang out, followed by two thuds as Burrows and the kid fell to the dusty floorboards, still and lifeless.
“Guns are so impersonal, you know that, Pretty? But sometimes,” T-Bag snapped a fresh clip into his handgun and shoved it into his waistband, “it’s the only way.” He leaned next to the kid’s body and tugged at his pants until they were around his ankles.
Michael stood on unsteady legs and managed to articulate the words, “Don’t touch him!” before collapsing again.
“Ain’t much you can do about it, now is there?”
Michael’s eyes were closed, but the sound alone of T-Bag fucking the body of his nephew was enough to make him vomit.
“Whatcha say, Pretty?” Michael forced his weary eyes open and watched as T-Bag approached. “How do ya want it?”
T-Bag kneeled and ran a finger along Michael’s jaw. “Do you want it . . . quick and painless?” His thumb rubbed small circles around Michael’s cheek. “Or should I make it hurt, hm?”
Michael lifted his arm to grasp T-Bag’s, but it fell back to the floor with a wasted effort.
“An’ I don’t even have to kill ya.” He grasped Michael’s shirt and pulled it up, a hand slipping beneath to trace the ink patterns across Michael’s chest. “Yeah, maybe I oughta keep ya all to myself for a little while.”
Michael took in a shuddering breath as T-Bag’s hands roamed over his body.
“I apologize for the beatin’ I had to give ya, Pretty,” T-Bag murmured, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Thought it’d make for some interesting entertainment for Sink and your pretty little nephew.”
T-Bag removed Michael’s shirt and trailed his tongue down the dark ink indelibly defined across his skin.
“Maybe I shoulda kept them alive a little longer, huh?” He unclasped Michael’s belt and slipped it from the belt loops. “They sure are gonna miss one helluva show.”