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serafina20Fic: Sona
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Hell on earth is found at La Penitenciaría Federal de Sona.
Notes: I've changed a small part of conversation between Alex and Michael in part 16. Alex does not tell Michael that he was almost raped by Guillermo.
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, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17
"Michael. Michael!"
Michael blinked. Flinched away from the smack to the side of his head. Blinked again and looked over at Alex. "What?"
"You've been staring at that plate for about five minutes. Snap out of it."
He looked down at the plate fragment. Unlike the other fragments he'd found, this one had a pattern. Brown flowers, swirling around on a thick porcelain.
Another smack.
"Sorry. Sorry." Michael set the plate aside, into a growing pile.
"Maybe you need to take a break. That's the fifth time that's happened."
"I'm fine." He rubbed his eyes. Pressed his fingers against them. "Where's Raoul?"
"He... doesn't appear to be around." Alex rose and went to the cell door. Looked outside. "Down at the other end. Think he's growing tired of us already?"
Michael shrugged. "Doubt it. We're still a novelty, at least for the next few days." He stood and moved over to the bed. "When Linc comes tomorrow," he said, leaning against it tiredly. "When he comes, will you come with me?"
Alex snorted. "Yeah," he said rubbing his hands together. "Because that's a good idea. Real good. You, me, and your brother. Little family reunion. Somehow, I don't think he'll be too happy that the man who killed his father is fucking his brother."
"We don't have to tell him about that." He closed his eyes. Tilted his head back. "I'm so tired."
"So go to bed. What time is it, anyway?"
Michael shrugged. "Nearly dinner? I don't know." He rubbed his stomach, careful not to jostle his injured arm. "Then just to the gate? You don't actually have to come out. Just. Be near."
Alex threw down whatever he was holding. It shattered on the concrete floor, pieces scattering. "I'm not your security blanket, Michael. If you need someone to hold on to, take Tony. Or Raoul, he'll be happy to cling."
"Something wrong?" He tried to muster up some energy, but the continuing ache in his arm was draining it all.
"Why you think that?" He leapt to his feet, all manic energy and blazing eyes. "Why should something be the matter? I mean, we're only in the worse prison on earth, stuck in the cell belonging to a giant with the mind of a child with a penchant for collecting things. We've become things to be collected. I haven't had a good shower in days. I piss and shit in a hundred other guys piss and shit. And I haven't had drugs in over five days." He grabbed Michael and pushed him harder against the bed. Pushed close into Michael's space until their bodies were tight. "Yeah," Alex growled, breath hot against Michael's skin. "There sure as fuck is something wrong."
It was so hot here. He'd just changed into a new shirt not four hours ago, and already Michael could feel that he'd sweated through the thin cotton. Alex, too; his shirt had been clinging to him for hours now, beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face, his neck until it blotted in the black fabric. A short scruff of hair had grown on his chin, filled in the lean cheeks. It was a good look, and Michael had to keep stopping himself from reaching out and rubbing his palm against the bristle.
Michael's stomach turned in a slow circle. He lifted his chin. "Well. You got through this day without any drugs. Besides nicotine. That doesn't count."
"Doesn't count?"
"It's legal. And they're your lungs." He licked his lips. "I did make a promise to you."
"Ah, yes. Your promise. A benevolent favor from Saint Michael." Alex leaned in. Rubbed his face along Michael's jaw. Bristles scratching against his skin, up towards his ear. "Saint Michael," Alex said again, voice a purr. "Sacrificed himself for his brother. Sacrifices his body now for what? What's in it for him?"
Teeth scraped over Michael's jaw. Bright hot pain flamed.
He reached out with his good hand. Squeezed Alex's arm. Panted.
"Saint Michael has a guilty conscious. He likes to be punished. Doesn't he?" When Michael didn't answer fast enough, Alex pressed hard against his injured shoulder.
Michael cried out, half pained, half surprised. His knees went weak and he slumped, weight on Alex, totally as his mercy.
"Well?"
"Yes," Michael admitted, cheeks going hot. He closed his eyes, unable to look at Alex.
"Saint Michael thinks this is where he belongs. In prison. Locked away. Punished for his crimes."
Again, he didn't answer quickly enough. Alex twisted his shoulder back, drawing another tortured cry from him.
"I don't... I don't..." he gasped, fingers digging into Alex's sides. "Lincoln was innocent."
"That wasn't my question, Saint Michael." Alex bit him. Hard. Broke the flesh and he could feel it give. Feel the blood.
"Not here."
"Not. Here." Alex wrapped his hand around Michael's wrist. Pulled at his arm, hurting Michael.
Michael bit his lip this time, not wanting to make any more noise. Not wanting.... "I deserve prison for what I did. So do you."
"We're not talking about me, Saint Michael."
"But you act like you shouldn't be here. Like... like the drugs are the only reason... but you killed. Shales. David. Haywire."
"Abruzzi."
"Abruzzi was a murderer."
"Judge and jury. Saint Martyr Michael." Another twist.
"Stop it!" He couldn't take it anymore. Take the pain, the taunting. Couldn't take...
He pushed.
Alex pushed back. Twisted his hurt arm. Wrapped his other hand around Michael's throat. Squeezed. "You said I could do anything."
"I didn't mean..."
"Saint Michael, willing to sell his body, little whore, because he feels guilty. Alex needs to be put away, the bad, bad man is a killer, but Saint Michael didn't mean this. Not this place. You wanted prison, not hell. So he feels guilty and gives the drug-addicted Alex what Saint Michael thinks the pervert wants."
Tears stood in his eyes. It hurt too much, his shoulder, his throat. The words that pecked, pecked, pecked at Michael, digging deep because Alex was inside him, always inside his mind, always seeing everything. Always peeling the layers back and leaving him exposed. "Stop," he whispered, desperate for air. "Just... not this."
"What then? What's okay? Not this, but this?" Alex dropped Michael's arm. Ripped at his fly, undoing the button and zipper.
He struggled. "No. Wait, not..."
But Alex pushed his jeans and underwear down. Flipped Michael around, hard metal of the bed cutting into his cheek. Mattress against Michael's face, and Alex held him tight. Hand on his ass, fingers in his crack.
"What about this, Saint Michael? You said anything. Do I get this? Is it really mine? Because you were panting for it yesterday, panting for this." He grabbed Michael's hand--the injured one. Yanked it around and Michael couldn't help the scream at the tearing pain. And then his hand was against Alex's crotch, pressed against grimy denim. "You were gagging for this." Alex thrust into Michael's hand. "Don't you want it now? Saint Michael, the whore. Don't you want it?"
He was trembling. Shaking out of control and tears were coursing down his cheeks, pain making him see red. But he managed to focus, just enough, concentrate. Pull himself together enough to say, "You don't even want it. Th-this isn't you, Alex. This.... You're not getting off on this. Not even hard."
The sweaty body pulled away. There was a sharp, swift jab to Michael's kidney's.
Michael fell, dropped to the floor, too tired and pained for anything else. Dizzy dimness obscured his vision, but he could see just enough to catch Alex's retreating figure through the bars.
Carefully, he pushed himself up. His arm was killing him, but he didn't think Alex had pulled it back out. He'd just wanted to hurt Michael, scare him. Punish him. Maybe punish himself. But not re-injure Michael. Not really.
He stood on shaky legs. Pulled his pants back up. His right hand was numb and he couldn't fasten his button. Of all the times for Tony to take off again. He'd come back earlier to tell them about Lincoln. Then, he'd gone off with some kids near about his own age. Michael had encouraged him to go, hopeful there might be someone in this prison whom Tony didn't feel beneath. Didn't feel he had to sleep with to get anything.
And now, Michael would give anything to have the comfort of that small, warm body pressed against him. To hold him. Snuggle against him and make him feel safe.
Instead, all he had was a pillow, a urine-scented blanket, and his own dark thoughts.
Part 19
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Hell on earth is found at La Penitenciaría Federal de Sona.
Notes: I've changed a small part of conversation between Alex and Michael in part 16. Alex does not tell Michael that he was almost raped by Guillermo.
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, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17
"Michael. Michael!"
Michael blinked. Flinched away from the smack to the side of his head. Blinked again and looked over at Alex. "What?"
"You've been staring at that plate for about five minutes. Snap out of it."
He looked down at the plate fragment. Unlike the other fragments he'd found, this one had a pattern. Brown flowers, swirling around on a thick porcelain.
Another smack.
"Sorry. Sorry." Michael set the plate aside, into a growing pile.
"Maybe you need to take a break. That's the fifth time that's happened."
"I'm fine." He rubbed his eyes. Pressed his fingers against them. "Where's Raoul?"
"He... doesn't appear to be around." Alex rose and went to the cell door. Looked outside. "Down at the other end. Think he's growing tired of us already?"
Michael shrugged. "Doubt it. We're still a novelty, at least for the next few days." He stood and moved over to the bed. "When Linc comes tomorrow," he said, leaning against it tiredly. "When he comes, will you come with me?"
Alex snorted. "Yeah," he said rubbing his hands together. "Because that's a good idea. Real good. You, me, and your brother. Little family reunion. Somehow, I don't think he'll be too happy that the man who killed his father is fucking his brother."
"We don't have to tell him about that." He closed his eyes. Tilted his head back. "I'm so tired."
"So go to bed. What time is it, anyway?"
Michael shrugged. "Nearly dinner? I don't know." He rubbed his stomach, careful not to jostle his injured arm. "Then just to the gate? You don't actually have to come out. Just. Be near."
Alex threw down whatever he was holding. It shattered on the concrete floor, pieces scattering. "I'm not your security blanket, Michael. If you need someone to hold on to, take Tony. Or Raoul, he'll be happy to cling."
"Something wrong?" He tried to muster up some energy, but the continuing ache in his arm was draining it all.
"Why you think that?" He leapt to his feet, all manic energy and blazing eyes. "Why should something be the matter? I mean, we're only in the worse prison on earth, stuck in the cell belonging to a giant with the mind of a child with a penchant for collecting things. We've become things to be collected. I haven't had a good shower in days. I piss and shit in a hundred other guys piss and shit. And I haven't had drugs in over five days." He grabbed Michael and pushed him harder against the bed. Pushed close into Michael's space until their bodies were tight. "Yeah," Alex growled, breath hot against Michael's skin. "There sure as fuck is something wrong."
It was so hot here. He'd just changed into a new shirt not four hours ago, and already Michael could feel that he'd sweated through the thin cotton. Alex, too; his shirt had been clinging to him for hours now, beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face, his neck until it blotted in the black fabric. A short scruff of hair had grown on his chin, filled in the lean cheeks. It was a good look, and Michael had to keep stopping himself from reaching out and rubbing his palm against the bristle.
Michael's stomach turned in a slow circle. He lifted his chin. "Well. You got through this day without any drugs. Besides nicotine. That doesn't count."
"Doesn't count?"
"It's legal. And they're your lungs." He licked his lips. "I did make a promise to you."
"Ah, yes. Your promise. A benevolent favor from Saint Michael." Alex leaned in. Rubbed his face along Michael's jaw. Bristles scratching against his skin, up towards his ear. "Saint Michael," Alex said again, voice a purr. "Sacrificed himself for his brother. Sacrifices his body now for what? What's in it for him?"
Teeth scraped over Michael's jaw. Bright hot pain flamed.
He reached out with his good hand. Squeezed Alex's arm. Panted.
"Saint Michael has a guilty conscious. He likes to be punished. Doesn't he?" When Michael didn't answer fast enough, Alex pressed hard against his injured shoulder.
Michael cried out, half pained, half surprised. His knees went weak and he slumped, weight on Alex, totally as his mercy.
"Well?"
"Yes," Michael admitted, cheeks going hot. He closed his eyes, unable to look at Alex.
"Saint Michael thinks this is where he belongs. In prison. Locked away. Punished for his crimes."
Again, he didn't answer quickly enough. Alex twisted his shoulder back, drawing another tortured cry from him.
"I don't... I don't..." he gasped, fingers digging into Alex's sides. "Lincoln was innocent."
"That wasn't my question, Saint Michael." Alex bit him. Hard. Broke the flesh and he could feel it give. Feel the blood.
"Not here."
"Not. Here." Alex wrapped his hand around Michael's wrist. Pulled at his arm, hurting Michael.
Michael bit his lip this time, not wanting to make any more noise. Not wanting.... "I deserve prison for what I did. So do you."
"We're not talking about me, Saint Michael."
"But you act like you shouldn't be here. Like... like the drugs are the only reason... but you killed. Shales. David. Haywire."
"Abruzzi."
"Abruzzi was a murderer."
"Judge and jury. Saint Martyr Michael." Another twist.
"Stop it!" He couldn't take it anymore. Take the pain, the taunting. Couldn't take...
He pushed.
Alex pushed back. Twisted his hurt arm. Wrapped his other hand around Michael's throat. Squeezed. "You said I could do anything."
"I didn't mean..."
"Saint Michael, willing to sell his body, little whore, because he feels guilty. Alex needs to be put away, the bad, bad man is a killer, but Saint Michael didn't mean this. Not this place. You wanted prison, not hell. So he feels guilty and gives the drug-addicted Alex what Saint Michael thinks the pervert wants."
Tears stood in his eyes. It hurt too much, his shoulder, his throat. The words that pecked, pecked, pecked at Michael, digging deep because Alex was inside him, always inside his mind, always seeing everything. Always peeling the layers back and leaving him exposed. "Stop," he whispered, desperate for air. "Just... not this."
"What then? What's okay? Not this, but this?" Alex dropped Michael's arm. Ripped at his fly, undoing the button and zipper.
He struggled. "No. Wait, not..."
But Alex pushed his jeans and underwear down. Flipped Michael around, hard metal of the bed cutting into his cheek. Mattress against Michael's face, and Alex held him tight. Hand on his ass, fingers in his crack.
"What about this, Saint Michael? You said anything. Do I get this? Is it really mine? Because you were panting for it yesterday, panting for this." He grabbed Michael's hand--the injured one. Yanked it around and Michael couldn't help the scream at the tearing pain. And then his hand was against Alex's crotch, pressed against grimy denim. "You were gagging for this." Alex thrust into Michael's hand. "Don't you want it now? Saint Michael, the whore. Don't you want it?"
He was trembling. Shaking out of control and tears were coursing down his cheeks, pain making him see red. But he managed to focus, just enough, concentrate. Pull himself together enough to say, "You don't even want it. Th-this isn't you, Alex. This.... You're not getting off on this. Not even hard."
The sweaty body pulled away. There was a sharp, swift jab to Michael's kidney's.
Michael fell, dropped to the floor, too tired and pained for anything else. Dizzy dimness obscured his vision, but he could see just enough to catch Alex's retreating figure through the bars.
Carefully, he pushed himself up. His arm was killing him, but he didn't think Alex had pulled it back out. He'd just wanted to hurt Michael, scare him. Punish him. Maybe punish himself. But not re-injure Michael. Not really.
He stood on shaky legs. Pulled his pants back up. His right hand was numb and he couldn't fasten his button. Of all the times for Tony to take off again. He'd come back earlier to tell them about Lincoln. Then, he'd gone off with some kids near about his own age. Michael had encouraged him to go, hopeful there might be someone in this prison whom Tony didn't feel beneath. Didn't feel he had to sleep with to get anything.
And now, Michael would give anything to have the comfort of that small, warm body pressed against him. To hold him. Snuggle against him and make him feel safe.
Instead, all he had was a pillow, a urine-scented blanket, and his own dark thoughts.
Part 19
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-10-10 09:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-10 09:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-10 10:09 am (UTC)Poor Michael, I was wincing every time Alex pulled on his arm, ouch! I loved his retort about the family reunion though lol.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-10 08:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-10 09:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-11 12:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-13 06:00 pm (UTC)But it does remain a great piece of writing
no subject
Date: 2008-12-06 07:57 pm (UTC)