Prison Break - Well-Advised
Title: Well-Advised
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: T-Bag, Michael
Genre: Gen
Word Count: ~ 570
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: One of the few pieces of good advice his father ever gave Theodore was to be careful of what he wished for, because he just might get it.
Notes: Set during episode 2.22. Thanks to torigates for her help with the translation ( original version).
One of the few pieces of good advice his father ever gave Theodore was to be careful of what he wished for, because he just might get it. At the time, Theodore thought that, perhaps, his father had the ability to exactly guess what was going on in Teddy’s mind: he wished that his father would love him more than anything else, and his father did precisely that. At least this was what he explained to him when Theodore dared ask the question. He took the answer for what it was worth: his father’s displays of love were quite painful, physically as well as emotionally, but he couldn’t hope for anything else. And anyway, who was he to question his father’s statements?
Yet this wasn’t the kind of love he had imagined. Those weren’t the displays of affection his father was supposed to lavish on him, but Teddy didn’t realize that right away.
Thirty years later, he’d had more than enough time to understand that Bagwell Sr.’s acts had nothing to do with love, and certainly not fatherly love. He understood that just a bit too late to avoid things turning the way they did, but in his neighborhood, when he was a kid, nobody would talk about this kind of issue.
Theodore had neglected the advice (if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been there, would he?) but he realized with no small amount of surprise that he hadn’t forgotten it. It was typical of the influence his father had had on his life in the end: Theodore hoped he could forget about him, but what he learnt, willingly or not, always caught up with him.
When Theodore found himself pinned to the floor under Michael, the advice came back to his memory. It was too brief to let him think and act properly given the urgency of the situation. The sensations and stimuli too fierce and sudden to be ignored. Because oh so pretty Michael straddling him, grinding into him, his knees holding Teddy’s hips? Slightly bent forward, his face contorted and his breathing harsh? Yeah, that was undoubtedly something T-Bag had hoped for. Sure, not quite like that. He’d imagined Michael wearing fewer clothes, more submissive, less triumphant, more scared. Maybe begging - Teddy would have given anything for a tad of begging... - and as breathless as he currently was. But all in all, he had what he’d wanted. For a few seconds anyway. He should have known it was not a good sign, because each time Theodore had obtained what he wanted, things went wrong.
Then Michael shifted above him, the contact a bit more insistent, a bit more intimate. A smirk played on his face and T-Bag wondered if his little angel hadn’t fall. Boy-scouts like him weren’t supposed to bask in their victory, stick the knife in deeper or rub their adversary’s face into their shortcomings.
But Michael didn’t persist and just listen to him, paying no credit to his words, still and marmoreal above him. The move had probably been involuntary, Michael probably was a boy-scout. T-Bag smiled with satisfaction and moved faintly between the kid’s thighs. Michelangelo, he thought with irony. So pretty, so perfect, so righteously avenging.
When the fucking little angel plunged forwards, when he planted the knife in T-Bag’s valid forearm and nailed his wrist to the floor, T-Bag remembered the only good advice his father had ever given him. Just a split second too late.
-End-
Author: clair-de-lune
Characters: T-Bag, Michael
Genre: Gen
Word Count: ~ 570
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing them for a while.
Summary: One of the few pieces of good advice his father ever gave Theodore was to be careful of what he wished for, because he just might get it.
Notes: Set during episode 2.22. Thanks to torigates for her help with the translation ( original version).
One of the few pieces of good advice his father ever gave Theodore was to be careful of what he wished for, because he just might get it. At the time, Theodore thought that, perhaps, his father had the ability to exactly guess what was going on in Teddy’s mind: he wished that his father would love him more than anything else, and his father did precisely that. At least this was what he explained to him when Theodore dared ask the question. He took the answer for what it was worth: his father’s displays of love were quite painful, physically as well as emotionally, but he couldn’t hope for anything else. And anyway, who was he to question his father’s statements?
Yet this wasn’t the kind of love he had imagined. Those weren’t the displays of affection his father was supposed to lavish on him, but Teddy didn’t realize that right away.
Thirty years later, he’d had more than enough time to understand that Bagwell Sr.’s acts had nothing to do with love, and certainly not fatherly love. He understood that just a bit too late to avoid things turning the way they did, but in his neighborhood, when he was a kid, nobody would talk about this kind of issue.
Theodore had neglected the advice (if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been there, would he?) but he realized with no small amount of surprise that he hadn’t forgotten it. It was typical of the influence his father had had on his life in the end: Theodore hoped he could forget about him, but what he learnt, willingly or not, always caught up with him.
When Theodore found himself pinned to the floor under Michael, the advice came back to his memory. It was too brief to let him think and act properly given the urgency of the situation. The sensations and stimuli too fierce and sudden to be ignored. Because oh so pretty Michael straddling him, grinding into him, his knees holding Teddy’s hips? Slightly bent forward, his face contorted and his breathing harsh? Yeah, that was undoubtedly something T-Bag had hoped for. Sure, not quite like that. He’d imagined Michael wearing fewer clothes, more submissive, less triumphant, more scared. Maybe begging - Teddy would have given anything for a tad of begging... - and as breathless as he currently was. But all in all, he had what he’d wanted. For a few seconds anyway. He should have known it was not a good sign, because each time Theodore had obtained what he wanted, things went wrong.
Then Michael shifted above him, the contact a bit more insistent, a bit more intimate. A smirk played on his face and T-Bag wondered if his little angel hadn’t fall. Boy-scouts like him weren’t supposed to bask in their victory, stick the knife in deeper or rub their adversary’s face into their shortcomings.
But Michael didn’t persist and just listen to him, paying no credit to his words, still and marmoreal above him. The move had probably been involuntary, Michael probably was a boy-scout. T-Bag smiled with satisfaction and moved faintly between the kid’s thighs. Michelangelo, he thought with irony. So pretty, so perfect, so righteously avenging.
When the fucking little angel plunged forwards, when he planted the knife in T-Bag’s valid forearm and nailed his wrist to the floor, T-Bag remembered the only good advice his father had ever given him. Just a split second too late.
-End-