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serafina20Fic: Sona
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Hell on earth is found at La Penitenciaría Federal de Sona.
Notes: Sorry I didn't answer your comments for the last part yet. After writing it, I didn't quite know what to say; it took a lot out of me. And then, this week has been awful, so that pushed me back again. I do appreciate the feedback. Thanks!
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13
By the time the lunch alarm rang, Michael had made a very small dent in the junk. It wasn't an easy task; among the bits of odds and ends were decomposing animals and rotten food. He kept half expecting to find the remains of Raoul's former cellmate buried underneath the junk. After the cat, nothing would surprise him.
The worst of it, Michael made Bellick deal with. He took a perverse pleasure in ordering the other man around, although he did his best to hide it. They were stuffed in close quarters, which always led to resentment anyway. Plus, if he lorded his position over Bellick now, when Michael was inevitably brutalized or humiliated in some way, Bellick wouldn't hesitated to hold it over him.
Although, Bellick being Bellick, he probably would do it anyway. At least this way, Michael knew he didn't deserve it.
"What are you doing?" Raoul demanded when he reentered the cell.
Michael looked up. "Organizing your things. See? All the sticks right here. Rocks are here. Utensils there. It'll make everything easier for you to find." He hesitated, then said, "I didn't think you'd mind. I thought it'd help you."
He looked around. Nodded. "Good. Is good," he said in English. "Come. We get food." He reached down, wrapped his huge hand around Michael's forearm, and pulled him up.
His stomach cramped at the mention of food. Michael pressed his forearms against it, leaning forward slightly. The little bit of chocolate hadn't been enough to satisfy him, and the rotten food hadn't been enough to kill his appetite. Not that skipping meals in a place like this was wise. He'd only been here... well, a few days, and already he was already dropping weight. Food, shelter, and water, the first order of survival.
Well. Shelter was being forced on him. Might as well concentrate on food and water.
Raoul half dragged, half led Michael to the mess hall. The whole time, he talked: to himself, to Michael, to men passing by, to random things he found lying on the ground. He picked everything he saw up to study, whether it be a rock or a piece of shirt. Once, he stated to pick up what was clearly a piece of shit, but Michael distracted him just in time.
What he picked up and kept, he handed off to Michael. Michael, unsure what to do with it, simply passed it back to Bellick.
They got to mess hall to find it not as crowded as Michael had expected. True, he'd never made it to an afternoon meal, but still. It seemed only half as full as usual. Before Michael could ask about it, though, he found himself pulled tightly to Raoul's side and pinned.
"What are you doing?" Michael asked, unable to stop from stiffening and trying to pull away.
"So they know. People always try to take my stuff," Raoul answered, slipping back into Spanish. "I don't want them thinking they can take you." And, with that, he bent his head and bit Michael's bottom lip.
The pain shot through him, down his chin. He felt the skin break. Blood well.
The bite changed to a kiss. A lick. Another kiss. Then there was a nip to his ear. A hard chomp on Michael's neck. Raoul's huge hand slid down to Michael's back, underneath his shirt.
Oh fuck.
He put his hands against Raoul's chest. Tried to hold them back. "You can't... you can't..." His mind skittered over the word rape, not wanting to either egg Raoul on or offend him, "Are you going to fuck me right here?"
Raoul pulled back. Smacked Michael so hard across the face, bright points of light exploded before his eyes.
Tears obscured his vision. Michael spat blood on the floor. Wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Straightened and met Raoul's eyes.
The other man pulled Michael to him. "I don't want to hurt you," Raoul said, nuzzling Michael's cheek. "But you don't question me, understand? You belong to me. I'll do whatever I want wherever I want and you don't ask. Okay?"
He couldn't stop the trembling. "Sorry." Michael winced. He hadn't meant to say that. He hadn't meant to say anything. But he was still keenly away that this man could just snap his neck with little effort. And that knowledge made him weak.
God, he missed Alex and the strange security being his "property". He missed freedom and Lincoln and being on the run. Right now, he even missed Fox River.
"It's okay. Even pretty puppies need to be trained." Raoul pat Michael on the head. Then he turned, hand wrapped around Michael's forearm once more, and headed to the food line.
Michael followed numbly. Barely noticed as the plate he tried to pick up was taken from his hands. As he was denied any food, given just a bottle of water. Was led to a table packed with men, no where for him to sit.
Except Raoul's lap.
He heard someone ask about him. Raoul answer, pride evident in his voice. And why not? Michael was, after all, the pride of his collection. Prize in that collection of shit.
Food was pressed to his mouth. He jerked back, uncomprehending, before he realized that Raoul was actually feeding him. God, what next? Bathing him?
Michael shuddered. But he ate. It was, at least, better than Bellick got. Bellick, who had to sit on the flood and collect the scraps that Raoul threw.
At least he was getting fed. And Raoul was more intent on feeding Michael than himself, which Michael supposed was good. Even better was the fact Raoul fed him, but his attention was elsewhere, so Michael was basically left alone. Alone and able to drift. And observe.
Like...
All around them, men sat in groups. Each group had a definite leader. This was mostly true for every table, barring a few. Some tables were obviously together, their group on the large side. Others seemed to have two distinct groups--gangs; might as well call a spade a spade--together. Allies, at least for the moment.
Those in the room not belonging to a gang didn't get a table. They either sat along the sides of the room, on the floor, or had drifted outside to the yard. Michael could see some of these loners being courted, gang members approaching them, giving gifts of food or just talking. People trying to secure more power.
Michael wondered who the top gang was. Who ran the prison in the guard's stead.
Raoul didn't really seem to belong to a gang per se. He obviously knew all these men, and they knew him. There was a comfortableness around them that came with having a set group. But there didn't seem to be a real connection. Not like at some of the other tables, where gangs had matching tattoos or headgear or even colors. The only thing connecting these men seemed to be their size.
Michael was not a small man. Yes, he tended to the thin side, especially after well over a year of eating only when reminded, then going to prison where not only was the food unappealing, but he'd been preoccupied with pulling off the escape. Plus, he'd lost weight during the chase. So, he was thin, yes. But he was also six foot tall, not exactly lacking in the height department.
Yet, among Raoul and the rest, he felt about the size of a two year old.
All eyes were on him, suddenly. Michael blinked and swallowed the food Raoul had pushed into his mouth moments before. His mind rushed back over the half listened-to conversation. Realized he'd been asked a question.
"Uh," he stuttered. "I'm in for murder."
The man who'd asked the question gave a little chuckle. "More dangerous than you look, then."
He raised an eyebrow and stared steadily back.
"I saw you kill the other day. I was coming in from the yard, and a man tried to take you. You killed him."
He went cold. Muscles in his neck tightened, pain shot through temples.
"Pretty and dangerous. It was sheer luck you got him. Still. He's dead." The man looked at Raoul. "You finally got something good in that collection of shit you've got."
Raoul frowned, offence written clearly on his face. He thought about what was said, his fingers stroking down Michel's arm. "He is good," he finally said. Squeezed Michael's cheek. "Pretty."
The man rolled his eyes. "Yes. Real pretty." He turned away and began talking to someone else.
Raoul was still stroking Michael's arm. His eyes were distant as he gazed down at his plate. Thick fingers pushed food around on his plate. He picked up a fork and passed it to Michael. "Keep."
Michael sighed. Looked down at Bellick and handed him the fork.
Bellick rolled his eyes. He'd had the foresight to bring a sack along, in which he put all the accumulated debris. The fork was added. "Think I could have anything else to eat?"
Hesitantly, Michael reached for the plate. His fingers closed around something fried and greasy when Raoul slapped his hand away.
"I feed." He picked the fried thing up and placed it at Michael's mouth.
He pulled away. "No. Bellick's hungry."
"Eat." He pushed it into Michael's mouth.
Relenting, he bit in. Chewed.
"Michael!" Feet pounded against the floor. "Michael!"
He turned in Raoul's lap. Tony was running through the mess hall at full speed. His cheeks were flushed bright red, sweat making his dark hair stick to his forehead.
"Michael." He practically fell into Michael's lap as he stumbled to a stop.
"What's wrong?" he asked, catching Tony. He held theboy up. "What's going on?"
"Riot. Block C," he panted. Licked his lips. "Gangs are fighting for control. Very dangerous." He took another deep breath. "That's where they put Senor."
It took a second. "Alex." A jolt of fear went through him. Michael leapt from Raoul's seat, heart pounding.
He made it three steps before a huge hand clamped on his right wrist.
Michael didn't think. The moment he felt the weight on his wrist, his right wrist, he snapped.
"Let go!" He whirled and smacked Raoul across the face. Yanked his arm.
It came out of his socket with a ripping pain that sent him to his knees.
"I warned you," Raoul said. His fist collided with Michael's cheek. And again. And again.
His head hit the floor. Face on fire. He tried to block the other man, but it was like trying to stop the wind. It just kept coming, again and again.
Michael heard screaming. Shouting. He got one arm over his head. Curled, legs to something.
Then, quite suddenly, it stopped.
He couldn't think. His head spun. The world was nothing but pain and shouting and whirling.
Gradually, he became aware of one voice. High, fast, a blur of undecipherable Spanish.
Tony.
Then, arms gathered Michael up. Hugged him tightly. "Lo siento," a voice whispered. Then again, faster, over and over.
I'm sorry.
Michael cried out as he was lifted from the floor. His useless arm was trapped between his and Raoul's body.
"I don't want to hurt you," Raoul said, practically crying as he carried Michael out of the mess hall. "I don't. But you make me. You did it. Tried to get away, when you're mine. I had no choice."
He squeezed his eyes shut. A mistake, as his eyes were swollen; even his eyelashes felt bruised. Blood seeped out from his mouth. Overwhelmed by the pain, Michael's mind grayed out. He drifted.
When he woke, he was lying on the bottom bunk back in Raoul's cell. Raoul was holding him, rocking back and forth. Tony sat at his side, holding his hand.
"Michael?" Tony leaned over. Placed one hand on gently on Michael's swollen cheek.
He wet his lips. "Thirsty."
Tony glanced up at Raoul, then crawled off the bed. A moment later, he returned with a bottle of water.
His arm was still dislocated. The pain almost made him throw up as Raoul moved him into a sitting position. He bit back a grown, tears coming to his eyes.
"My shoulder," he rasped after he'd drunk as much as he could.
Tony rolled his eyes. Shook his head. "He afraid guards take you from him."
Raoul adjusted against him. Kissed his hair and pet him.
"Raoul? What are you in for?" Michael asked. He closed his eyes. Pain made him tired.
A hand ran down his chest, soothing. Or, at least Michael supposed it was to be meant to sooth.
A long time passed. Finally, Raoul sighed. "It was an accident. I killed my wife. But it was an accident. She made me mad and I lost my temper."
"What did she do?"
He shrugged. "Didn't come home on time. I thought someone else was trying to take her from me." He sighed. "I loved her very much." His arms tightened around Michael.
Michael's eyes moved to Tony's.
Tony leaned in. "I find Senor?"
"Please. Quickly."
He kissed Michael lightly twice on the lips. "I got fast. You sleep." He kissed Michael one more time, then rose from the bed. "I be back, Senor. Okay?"
"Bring something for him to take the pain away, Gatito. I don't want him hurting."
Tony clearly had to suppress rolling his eyes. Instead, he simply nodded. With one last sympathetic look to Michael, he turned and ran from the cell.
And Michael did the only thing he could do in anything resembling comfort: he slept.
Part 15
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Hell on earth is found at La Penitenciaría Federal de Sona.
Notes: Sorry I didn't answer your comments for the last part yet. After writing it, I didn't quite know what to say; it took a lot out of me. And then, this week has been awful, so that pushed me back again. I do appreciate the feedback. Thanks!
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13
By the time the lunch alarm rang, Michael had made a very small dent in the junk. It wasn't an easy task; among the bits of odds and ends were decomposing animals and rotten food. He kept half expecting to find the remains of Raoul's former cellmate buried underneath the junk. After the cat, nothing would surprise him.
The worst of it, Michael made Bellick deal with. He took a perverse pleasure in ordering the other man around, although he did his best to hide it. They were stuffed in close quarters, which always led to resentment anyway. Plus, if he lorded his position over Bellick now, when Michael was inevitably brutalized or humiliated in some way, Bellick wouldn't hesitated to hold it over him.
Although, Bellick being Bellick, he probably would do it anyway. At least this way, Michael knew he didn't deserve it.
"What are you doing?" Raoul demanded when he reentered the cell.
Michael looked up. "Organizing your things. See? All the sticks right here. Rocks are here. Utensils there. It'll make everything easier for you to find." He hesitated, then said, "I didn't think you'd mind. I thought it'd help you."
He looked around. Nodded. "Good. Is good," he said in English. "Come. We get food." He reached down, wrapped his huge hand around Michael's forearm, and pulled him up.
His stomach cramped at the mention of food. Michael pressed his forearms against it, leaning forward slightly. The little bit of chocolate hadn't been enough to satisfy him, and the rotten food hadn't been enough to kill his appetite. Not that skipping meals in a place like this was wise. He'd only been here... well, a few days, and already he was already dropping weight. Food, shelter, and water, the first order of survival.
Well. Shelter was being forced on him. Might as well concentrate on food and water.
Raoul half dragged, half led Michael to the mess hall. The whole time, he talked: to himself, to Michael, to men passing by, to random things he found lying on the ground. He picked everything he saw up to study, whether it be a rock or a piece of shirt. Once, he stated to pick up what was clearly a piece of shit, but Michael distracted him just in time.
What he picked up and kept, he handed off to Michael. Michael, unsure what to do with it, simply passed it back to Bellick.
They got to mess hall to find it not as crowded as Michael had expected. True, he'd never made it to an afternoon meal, but still. It seemed only half as full as usual. Before Michael could ask about it, though, he found himself pulled tightly to Raoul's side and pinned.
"What are you doing?" Michael asked, unable to stop from stiffening and trying to pull away.
"So they know. People always try to take my stuff," Raoul answered, slipping back into Spanish. "I don't want them thinking they can take you." And, with that, he bent his head and bit Michael's bottom lip.
The pain shot through him, down his chin. He felt the skin break. Blood well.
The bite changed to a kiss. A lick. Another kiss. Then there was a nip to his ear. A hard chomp on Michael's neck. Raoul's huge hand slid down to Michael's back, underneath his shirt.
Oh fuck.
He put his hands against Raoul's chest. Tried to hold them back. "You can't... you can't..." His mind skittered over the word rape, not wanting to either egg Raoul on or offend him, "Are you going to fuck me right here?"
Raoul pulled back. Smacked Michael so hard across the face, bright points of light exploded before his eyes.
Tears obscured his vision. Michael spat blood on the floor. Wiped his nose with the back of his hand. Straightened and met Raoul's eyes.
The other man pulled Michael to him. "I don't want to hurt you," Raoul said, nuzzling Michael's cheek. "But you don't question me, understand? You belong to me. I'll do whatever I want wherever I want and you don't ask. Okay?"
He couldn't stop the trembling. "Sorry." Michael winced. He hadn't meant to say that. He hadn't meant to say anything. But he was still keenly away that this man could just snap his neck with little effort. And that knowledge made him weak.
God, he missed Alex and the strange security being his "property". He missed freedom and Lincoln and being on the run. Right now, he even missed Fox River.
"It's okay. Even pretty puppies need to be trained." Raoul pat Michael on the head. Then he turned, hand wrapped around Michael's forearm once more, and headed to the food line.
Michael followed numbly. Barely noticed as the plate he tried to pick up was taken from his hands. As he was denied any food, given just a bottle of water. Was led to a table packed with men, no where for him to sit.
Except Raoul's lap.
He heard someone ask about him. Raoul answer, pride evident in his voice. And why not? Michael was, after all, the pride of his collection. Prize in that collection of shit.
Food was pressed to his mouth. He jerked back, uncomprehending, before he realized that Raoul was actually feeding him. God, what next? Bathing him?
Michael shuddered. But he ate. It was, at least, better than Bellick got. Bellick, who had to sit on the flood and collect the scraps that Raoul threw.
At least he was getting fed. And Raoul was more intent on feeding Michael than himself, which Michael supposed was good. Even better was the fact Raoul fed him, but his attention was elsewhere, so Michael was basically left alone. Alone and able to drift. And observe.
Like...
All around them, men sat in groups. Each group had a definite leader. This was mostly true for every table, barring a few. Some tables were obviously together, their group on the large side. Others seemed to have two distinct groups--gangs; might as well call a spade a spade--together. Allies, at least for the moment.
Those in the room not belonging to a gang didn't get a table. They either sat along the sides of the room, on the floor, or had drifted outside to the yard. Michael could see some of these loners being courted, gang members approaching them, giving gifts of food or just talking. People trying to secure more power.
Michael wondered who the top gang was. Who ran the prison in the guard's stead.
Raoul didn't really seem to belong to a gang per se. He obviously knew all these men, and they knew him. There was a comfortableness around them that came with having a set group. But there didn't seem to be a real connection. Not like at some of the other tables, where gangs had matching tattoos or headgear or even colors. The only thing connecting these men seemed to be their size.
Michael was not a small man. Yes, he tended to the thin side, especially after well over a year of eating only when reminded, then going to prison where not only was the food unappealing, but he'd been preoccupied with pulling off the escape. Plus, he'd lost weight during the chase. So, he was thin, yes. But he was also six foot tall, not exactly lacking in the height department.
Yet, among Raoul and the rest, he felt about the size of a two year old.
All eyes were on him, suddenly. Michael blinked and swallowed the food Raoul had pushed into his mouth moments before. His mind rushed back over the half listened-to conversation. Realized he'd been asked a question.
"Uh," he stuttered. "I'm in for murder."
The man who'd asked the question gave a little chuckle. "More dangerous than you look, then."
He raised an eyebrow and stared steadily back.
"I saw you kill the other day. I was coming in from the yard, and a man tried to take you. You killed him."
He went cold. Muscles in his neck tightened, pain shot through temples.
"Pretty and dangerous. It was sheer luck you got him. Still. He's dead." The man looked at Raoul. "You finally got something good in that collection of shit you've got."
Raoul frowned, offence written clearly on his face. He thought about what was said, his fingers stroking down Michel's arm. "He is good," he finally said. Squeezed Michael's cheek. "Pretty."
The man rolled his eyes. "Yes. Real pretty." He turned away and began talking to someone else.
Raoul was still stroking Michael's arm. His eyes were distant as he gazed down at his plate. Thick fingers pushed food around on his plate. He picked up a fork and passed it to Michael. "Keep."
Michael sighed. Looked down at Bellick and handed him the fork.
Bellick rolled his eyes. He'd had the foresight to bring a sack along, in which he put all the accumulated debris. The fork was added. "Think I could have anything else to eat?"
Hesitantly, Michael reached for the plate. His fingers closed around something fried and greasy when Raoul slapped his hand away.
"I feed." He picked the fried thing up and placed it at Michael's mouth.
He pulled away. "No. Bellick's hungry."
"Eat." He pushed it into Michael's mouth.
Relenting, he bit in. Chewed.
"Michael!" Feet pounded against the floor. "Michael!"
He turned in Raoul's lap. Tony was running through the mess hall at full speed. His cheeks were flushed bright red, sweat making his dark hair stick to his forehead.
"Michael." He practically fell into Michael's lap as he stumbled to a stop.
"What's wrong?" he asked, catching Tony. He held theboy up. "What's going on?"
"Riot. Block C," he panted. Licked his lips. "Gangs are fighting for control. Very dangerous." He took another deep breath. "That's where they put Senor."
It took a second. "Alex." A jolt of fear went through him. Michael leapt from Raoul's seat, heart pounding.
He made it three steps before a huge hand clamped on his right wrist.
Michael didn't think. The moment he felt the weight on his wrist, his right wrist, he snapped.
"Let go!" He whirled and smacked Raoul across the face. Yanked his arm.
It came out of his socket with a ripping pain that sent him to his knees.
"I warned you," Raoul said. His fist collided with Michael's cheek. And again. And again.
His head hit the floor. Face on fire. He tried to block the other man, but it was like trying to stop the wind. It just kept coming, again and again.
Michael heard screaming. Shouting. He got one arm over his head. Curled, legs to something.
Then, quite suddenly, it stopped.
He couldn't think. His head spun. The world was nothing but pain and shouting and whirling.
Gradually, he became aware of one voice. High, fast, a blur of undecipherable Spanish.
Tony.
Then, arms gathered Michael up. Hugged him tightly. "Lo siento," a voice whispered. Then again, faster, over and over.
I'm sorry.
Michael cried out as he was lifted from the floor. His useless arm was trapped between his and Raoul's body.
"I don't want to hurt you," Raoul said, practically crying as he carried Michael out of the mess hall. "I don't. But you make me. You did it. Tried to get away, when you're mine. I had no choice."
He squeezed his eyes shut. A mistake, as his eyes were swollen; even his eyelashes felt bruised. Blood seeped out from his mouth. Overwhelmed by the pain, Michael's mind grayed out. He drifted.
When he woke, he was lying on the bottom bunk back in Raoul's cell. Raoul was holding him, rocking back and forth. Tony sat at his side, holding his hand.
"Michael?" Tony leaned over. Placed one hand on gently on Michael's swollen cheek.
He wet his lips. "Thirsty."
Tony glanced up at Raoul, then crawled off the bed. A moment later, he returned with a bottle of water.
His arm was still dislocated. The pain almost made him throw up as Raoul moved him into a sitting position. He bit back a grown, tears coming to his eyes.
"My shoulder," he rasped after he'd drunk as much as he could.
Tony rolled his eyes. Shook his head. "He afraid guards take you from him."
Raoul adjusted against him. Kissed his hair and pet him.
"Raoul? What are you in for?" Michael asked. He closed his eyes. Pain made him tired.
A hand ran down his chest, soothing. Or, at least Michael supposed it was to be meant to sooth.
A long time passed. Finally, Raoul sighed. "It was an accident. I killed my wife. But it was an accident. She made me mad and I lost my temper."
"What did she do?"
He shrugged. "Didn't come home on time. I thought someone else was trying to take her from me." He sighed. "I loved her very much." His arms tightened around Michael.
Michael's eyes moved to Tony's.
Tony leaned in. "I find Senor?"
"Please. Quickly."
He kissed Michael lightly twice on the lips. "I got fast. You sleep." He kissed Michael one more time, then rose from the bed. "I be back, Senor. Okay?"
"Bring something for him to take the pain away, Gatito. I don't want him hurting."
Tony clearly had to suppress rolling his eyes. Instead, he simply nodded. With one last sympathetic look to Michael, he turned and ran from the cell.
And Michael did the only thing he could do in anything resembling comfort: he slept.
Part 15
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-09-15 09:23 am (UTC)u did a great job
greetzz nikki
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Date: 2007-09-16 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-15 10:52 am (UTC)I can´t wait for the next chapter
>o
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Date: 2007-09-16 01:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-15 12:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-15 01:17 pm (UTC)Thank you for spelling it out as I couldn't quite remember who he reminded me of. Yes.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-16 01:36 am (UTC)Yes! That's exactly it. I wasn't thinking of Lenny specifically, but that's what I was going for. :)
At least he got to order Bellick around for a little while but that dislocated shoulder sounds soooo painful
My sister just dislocated hers (well; it pulled from the socket and immediately popped back in). First shingles, then the shoulder. All of Michael's injuries can be traced back to her somehow.
Thank you. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-09-15 02:17 pm (UTC)I absolutely adore Tony! He is just gorgeous.
(Why do I like Raoul a little? It's very odd...)
He bit back a grown Did you mean groan?
no subject
Date: 2007-09-16 01:36 am (UTC)Thanks!!!
no subject
Date: 2007-09-15 02:40 pm (UTC)Can't wait for Alex and Mike getting together again. With a little help from friend T-Bag?
And Raoul? You write these psychos disturbingly good... *shudders*... *and applauds*
no subject
Date: 2007-09-16 01:38 am (UTC)Why thank you. I just hope I do T-Bag justice. :)
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Date: 2007-09-15 02:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-16 01:39 am (UTC)Thank you. :)
no subject
Date: 2007-09-15 04:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-16 01:40 am (UTC)Thank you. I try my best. :P
no subject
Date: 2007-09-16 06:00 pm (UTC)this story's such a thrill! =D
no subject
Date: 2007-09-16 09:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-22 12:39 am (UTC)And whoever likened Raoul to Lenny is a genius. So, so true. Great chappy.
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Date: 2007-10-31 10:56 pm (UTC)