Prompt Post 2
Welcome to the second round of the_eagle_kink .
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Happy Kink, everyone.
~CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS~
Please see the rules before posting.
Please check our delcious account before prompting.
Happy Kink, everyone.
~CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS~
- MORE MOD NOTES: Alright guys I know this fandom is really into historical accuracy and all that jazz but here's the thing. This is a KINK MEME and therefore historical accuracy is not ( Read more... )
Something like that, sure. Or maybe something like O'Donnell and his gang kicking the shit out of him after his shift at the laundry. Marcus has eyes and ears in all the right places.
"Look, Eric, I'll be honest with you. In this place, you've gotta belong. Now, you're a white kid, you have a couple of choices. There are the Nazis, but I wouldn't go there if I were you. There's O'Donnell, you've already met, I believe. And then there's me."
"Let me guess, La Cosa Nostra?" Eric drawls, sounding hugely unimpressed. "La happy familia?"
"You still have a working eye," Marcus says mildly. "It doesn't have to stay that way."
"Oh, we're down to threats, are we?" Eric grins, a muscle in his jaw twitching. For the first time Marcus wonders if he's in for first degree.
"You should mind your own business, Aquila. Word outside is, the lovely Camilla's been awfully busy drowning her sorrows."
Marcus is generally a pretty collected, cool headed person, up until the moment something inside just snaps and then off he goes. Too fucking impulsive, that's his problem. Uncle always does say.
Eric can't weigh much to begin with, and he is practically feather light after that last comment. Marcus lifts him from the chair by the collar, presses his thumbs into the delicate skin of that pale neck. The chair goes down sideways under the kid's reflexive kick, crashing into the wall.
"You were saying?" Marcus says, very quietly.
Eric just stares at him. He doesn't even struggle and that must take a lot, to rein your fight or flight in like that. His eyes are a knowing, piercing blue, vivid even through all the bruising. Mocking Marcus. They seem to really see, and Marcus has this crazy idea that maybe Eric knows, maybe he's worked it out somehow, maybe he'll tell and mess shit up spectacularly.
"Please don't make me do this," he says even as lets up the pressure, his thumbs brushing over already purpling marks as Eric coughs and gulps in air.
"You can't possibly know anything important about my family, kid, and if you do? You should keep it to yourself. You think my wife's a slut? You fucking swallow that thought from now on if you know what's good for you."
"Does the truth hurt, Marcus?" Eric croaks.
He's panting and wincing, clutching at his throat, but he's also grinning, and that more than anything is giving Marcus the fucking chills.
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"In this place, you've gotta belong. Now, you're a white kid, you have a couple of choices. There are the Nazis, but I wouldn't go there if I were you. There's O'Donnell, you've already met, I believe. And then there's me.""
for some reason it's the sexiest fucking thing he could have said :D
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YOU ARE FOREVER MY FAVOURITE.
I WILL LIE AT YOUR FEET AND TALK SLUTTY TO YOU. ANYTHING. ANYTHING.
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That night, the kid slinks back to their cell with only a couple of minutes to spare before count. Marcus doesn't know why he feels relieved, it would serve the little shit right if he got caught in the wrong.
Lights out is only ever lights out in name in this place. It's more like 'lights down a notch', really.
Marcus stares at the top bunk for a while, listens to Eric's fidgeting. Probably trying and failing to get comfortable with his banged up ribs on the slice of rock that is his mattress.
"Familia's in Spanish, you know," Marcus says into the silence. It's been annoying him all day.
"What?" Eric says.
"You said 'la familia', that's in Spanish. Famiglia is Italian."
"Veramente?" Eric drawls. "Che stupido da parte mia, grazie per le correzioni." *
Marcus blinks. Right.
"You really do have a deathwish, huh?"
"Yeah," Eric says, sounding vaguely amused. "You know what? I must seriously have one."
***
"You're a funny one," Marcus says contemplatively. "Here I am, offering protection and food that doesn't look and taste like it's already been eaten by someone. I could get you one of the easier jobs."
"You could help me with this, huh?" Eric mutters, dumping the cleaning rag back in the bucket and splashing his t-shirt in the process. "Great. This is disgusting."
Marcus smirks and makes a show of lying back on his bed, arms crossed under his head.
"Yeah, maybe not. Wipe on, Cinderella."
Eric shoots him a dirty look from the floor.
"You like me on my knees, do you?"
"All that's missing is a ballgag from your mouth."
"Ah, a bondage joke. How original."
"It's a classic, it doesn't have to be original. And you didn't reply."
"I wasn't aware you asked a question."
Marcus rolls his eyes.
"It was implied. So why are you being such an obstinate little bitch about belonging to me? I would treat you right, ask anyone if you don't believe me."
Eric snorts, his eyes on the rag as he scrubs at the floor.
"Right, I'll go and ask. Because everyone's right trustworthy. That's how they got here."
"What, you scared of me? You have a funny way of showing it."
* "Really? How stupid of me, thanks for the correction."
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"You are just..." Eric sighs, letting the rag flop to the floor. "Why can't you just leave me alone? I stay out of your way, you stay out of mine, everyone's happy."
"Oh, so you actually enjoy getting the crap beaten out of you? Looked in a mirror lately?"
The kid's been jumped again yesterday, probably. Marcus doesn't know when or by whom, but he's pretty sure the limp is a new thing.
"You don't want me for my beautiful face, then?" Eric asks shrewdly.
"Okay, let's get a few things clear, because you seem to have the wrong idea," Marcus says. "I don't want you, kid. I just don't want you to get killed. Call me a big softie. I also don't want to share living space with any of O'Donnell's trash. I have a rep to think of, you following me so far?"
"So what, you don't even have enough pull with administration to get one of your little buddies in here with you?" Eric smirks. "And here I thought you were the big bad shutcall."
"Is that what you want?" Marcus asks seriously. He sits up and takes a good long look at the stupid little son of a bitch lounging on the floor, smiling all smug like he thinks he's so much smarter than the poor bastards he's surrounded with. Like he doesn't realize he's the canary stuck in with all the cats and dogs.
"You want a transfer, kid? Because that could be done. I hear Kelly's been awfully lonely since they segregated his little fuck buddy. Kelly, you know? Big ginger motherfucker, has second laundry shift with you?"
"I've got it, thanks," Eric snaps.
Ugh huh, Marcus thinks. Not so amused now, little canary?
"Been eyeing your ass, has he? You wanna go live with him? Shall I go get Officer Wilson?"
The kid's lips are a tight, thin line, his jaw clenched. Marcus knows the look. He's trying to look brave, but his eyes are spooked. It's a clever if misplaced fear. Marcus wouldn't stick him in with a serial rapist, but Cinderella doesn't know that and that suits Marcus just fine.
So little Eric Johnson's not dumb, not by a long shot, but then what is he?
"No, thanks, I'm actually quite fond of this cell," Eric says. "Those cracks in the ceiling? Genius. How would I go on living without that view?"
"Now, no need to get smart with me," Marcus warns.
To his credit, Eric shuts up and goes back to scrubbing the floor.
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♥♥♥
you know how I feel about you, mysterious nonnie.
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"You like me on my knees, do you?"
"All that's missing is a ballgag from your mouth."
Just made me :D :D
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