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serafina20Fic: Sona
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Hell on earth is found at La Penitenciaría Federal de Sona.
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, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22
The rage inside was like an inferno. It threatened to explode and consume him and this whole God forsaken hellhole. This mockery of justice, little more than a holding pen for animals and villains and fools.
And him. Mr. FBI. The man who'd dared pursue him like a dog across the country. Who thought he could order T-Bag around, confine him to a closet like a child. Who treated him with markedly less respect than was warranted because he thought an education and degree made him better than T-Bag.
The man was nothing. The man's intellect was puny, minuscule, microscopic and paltry compared to his own.
And this nothing, this nonentity dared to defile the perfection of Michael Scofield.
T-Bag clenched his fist. He walked up to the nearest man, turned him around and punched. The man tried to fight back but T-Bag didn't give him the chance. He knocked the man to the ground and set on him, kicking his ribs. Felt them crack under his boots. Watched the blood as it spread hot, wet patches on his shirt. And when T-Bag kicked again, felt the crack of the sternum, his victim began bleeding from his mouth. Eyes grew dim.
He stepped on the man's throat. Felt it give. Felt the last gurgle, the last death rattle.
And still he wasn't appeased.
Pulling away from the dead man, T-Bag continued away from the cell where the FBI agent was pounding away into Pretty's gorgeous body as if he were a piece of meat. Touching and pawing what wasn't his.
Pretty belonged to him. He had from the first minute T-Bag had seen him. He just hadn't had the chance to properly lay claim yet, but there was never any doubt it would happen. T-Bag would have him.
And now... and now that FBI agent had touched him. Taken the Pretty the way T-Bag had always wanted.
And Pretty?
Had writhed and moaned like a bitch in heat, taking it. Loving it.
It wasn't fair.
He exited into the sun drenched yard. The little one was just to the right, crouching in the dirt, playing marbles by himself. T-Bag wasted no time. He stormed across the yard, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and slammed him into the wall.
"How long have Michael and Mahone been going at it like dogs?" he demanded.
The boy clawed at T-Bag's arm, eyes wide. "Que?"
"Michael. And Alexander Mahone. How long have they been fucking?" To accentuate his point, T-Bag thrust his hips into the boy's, undulating.
"Um... ah... Three day? Two? Before Raoul. Sunday. I go to church, and when I come back, they are together."
"Why?"
The boy blinked. "Because Michael is pretty and Senor is very handsom."
He slammed the boy against the wall. "But why? How did it happen? What brought them together, because, believe me, I know Michael Scofield. He wouldn't just start putting out in the seventh circle of hell for no reason."
The child just looked at him, eyes blank.
"What happened Sunday to drive them together?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me what happened that day?"
"I don't know!"
T-Bag reached up with his good hand. He pinched the boy's nose closed and covered his mouth. "Walk me from the moment you got up, to whenever you left them. Tell me what happened."
He began to nod frantically.
"Talk." He removed his hand.
"Okay. Okay. We get up. And Senor is not there. He is gone, and Michael say... who sell drugs. I tell him Carlos, because that is who I tell Senor sell drugs. And there is food and blankets gone. So Michael ask me take him. I do, and we find Carlos and Alex. And he is getting drugs. Michael gives drugs back to Carlos, but he will not give us our stuff back. And then Michael.... he hit Alex and drag him back to the closet. I go to church."
"Michael hit Alex?"
"Si."
He eased the pressure on the boy. Drew into his thoughts, considering the implication.
Obviously, the Pretty enjoyed pain. Both the giving and receiving. Which meant, as T-Bag had long suspected, his rejection of T-bags advances were nothing but him playing hard-to-get. Something T-Bag could appreciate.
What he didn't appreciate was Michael allowing another man to besmirch his body while being coy with T-Bag. But that he could deal with later.
In the meantime, it appeared that Mr. FBI, Agent Alexander Mahone was a bit of a junkie. And while he may have it under control for the moment, T-Bag knew addiction.
His mood vastly improved.
"Thank you," he purred, leaning in.
The boy's skin was so smooth, not even the hint of stubble yet. Smooth and young and so very tasty.
"No," the child said softly. He pulled his face away from T-Bag's questing tongue. Lowered his eyelashes and pushed.
"I don't believe the slut of Sona is in any position to refuse me," he said. He slipped his hand underneath the boy's shirt. Stroke the flat little tummy before sliding his hand underneath the loose waistband of his slacks.
"You have nothing to trade. I do business. Not..." He pushed. When T-Bag didn't move, he tried again. A frantic look came over his face when T-Bag only increased the pressure, hand sliding further down his pants.
The fear made T-Bag's head spin.
"Stop!" The boy kicked him in the shins and began struggling in earnest. That delicious panic was painting his face. His fingers clawed at T-Bag's arms and tears welled in his eyes.
But, as wonderful as it all was, what T-Bag really needed was a quick fuck, not a long drawn out seduction.
So, he closed off the boy's airway again.
"Listen," he whispered in Tony's ear. "I really don't have time for this. Not today. Next time, you can fight me all you want, as long as you want. But I just spent the last two hours watching Alexander Mahone fucking Michael--my Michael--into oblivion. And then, he woke up, rolled Michael over, and fucked him again. I'm livid at seeing the desecration of my property and I'm feeling randy. So, unless you want me taking your unconscious body, of which I have no problem because it really is a beautiful body, stop fighting and come with me."
The struggling stopped. Big, crocodile tears rolled from his eyes, and he nodded.
"Good." He pulled his hand away. Replaced it with his mouth. Kissed the unresponsive on below his.
He pinched the boy.
That got the response he was looking for. Kissing, tears, and trembling all at once. The best combination.
"Hey!"
T-Bag was roughly pulled away from the boy. Spun around and turned to face the fucking giant.
"You no touch him!" Raoul said in that slow, awkward was of his. He looked at Tony. Frowned. "Why you cry?"
Tony shook his head.
Raoul looked back. "He mine. You no touch."
"I was just..."
"No!"
One huge, meaty paw came out and smacked T-Bag across the face. The blow sent him tumbling back, falling on his ass in the dirt.
"Mine. You no touch," the giant reiterated. Then he took Tony by the arm and led him off into the prison.
T-Bag watched them go, wiping a trail of blood that oozed from his mouth. New plan. First, kill the giant. Then, kill the FBI agent. And then, he could finally claim his property.
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Michael/Mahone
Summary: Hell on earth is found at La Penitenciaría Federal de Sona.
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, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22
The rage inside was like an inferno. It threatened to explode and consume him and this whole God forsaken hellhole. This mockery of justice, little more than a holding pen for animals and villains and fools.
And him. Mr. FBI. The man who'd dared pursue him like a dog across the country. Who thought he could order T-Bag around, confine him to a closet like a child. Who treated him with markedly less respect than was warranted because he thought an education and degree made him better than T-Bag.
The man was nothing. The man's intellect was puny, minuscule, microscopic and paltry compared to his own.
And this nothing, this nonentity dared to defile the perfection of Michael Scofield.
T-Bag clenched his fist. He walked up to the nearest man, turned him around and punched. The man tried to fight back but T-Bag didn't give him the chance. He knocked the man to the ground and set on him, kicking his ribs. Felt them crack under his boots. Watched the blood as it spread hot, wet patches on his shirt. And when T-Bag kicked again, felt the crack of the sternum, his victim began bleeding from his mouth. Eyes grew dim.
He stepped on the man's throat. Felt it give. Felt the last gurgle, the last death rattle.
And still he wasn't appeased.
Pulling away from the dead man, T-Bag continued away from the cell where the FBI agent was pounding away into Pretty's gorgeous body as if he were a piece of meat. Touching and pawing what wasn't his.
Pretty belonged to him. He had from the first minute T-Bag had seen him. He just hadn't had the chance to properly lay claim yet, but there was never any doubt it would happen. T-Bag would have him.
And now... and now that FBI agent had touched him. Taken the Pretty the way T-Bag had always wanted.
And Pretty?
Had writhed and moaned like a bitch in heat, taking it. Loving it.
It wasn't fair.
He exited into the sun drenched yard. The little one was just to the right, crouching in the dirt, playing marbles by himself. T-Bag wasted no time. He stormed across the yard, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and slammed him into the wall.
"How long have Michael and Mahone been going at it like dogs?" he demanded.
The boy clawed at T-Bag's arm, eyes wide. "Que?"
"Michael. And Alexander Mahone. How long have they been fucking?" To accentuate his point, T-Bag thrust his hips into the boy's, undulating.
"Um... ah... Three day? Two? Before Raoul. Sunday. I go to church, and when I come back, they are together."
"Why?"
The boy blinked. "Because Michael is pretty and Senor is very handsom."
He slammed the boy against the wall. "But why? How did it happen? What brought them together, because, believe me, I know Michael Scofield. He wouldn't just start putting out in the seventh circle of hell for no reason."
The child just looked at him, eyes blank.
"What happened Sunday to drive them together?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me what happened that day?"
"I don't know!"
T-Bag reached up with his good hand. He pinched the boy's nose closed and covered his mouth. "Walk me from the moment you got up, to whenever you left them. Tell me what happened."
He began to nod frantically.
"Talk." He removed his hand.
"Okay. Okay. We get up. And Senor is not there. He is gone, and Michael say... who sell drugs. I tell him Carlos, because that is who I tell Senor sell drugs. And there is food and blankets gone. So Michael ask me take him. I do, and we find Carlos and Alex. And he is getting drugs. Michael gives drugs back to Carlos, but he will not give us our stuff back. And then Michael.... he hit Alex and drag him back to the closet. I go to church."
"Michael hit Alex?"
"Si."
He eased the pressure on the boy. Drew into his thoughts, considering the implication.
Obviously, the Pretty enjoyed pain. Both the giving and receiving. Which meant, as T-Bag had long suspected, his rejection of T-bags advances were nothing but him playing hard-to-get. Something T-Bag could appreciate.
What he didn't appreciate was Michael allowing another man to besmirch his body while being coy with T-Bag. But that he could deal with later.
In the meantime, it appeared that Mr. FBI, Agent Alexander Mahone was a bit of a junkie. And while he may have it under control for the moment, T-Bag knew addiction.
His mood vastly improved.
"Thank you," he purred, leaning in.
The boy's skin was so smooth, not even the hint of stubble yet. Smooth and young and so very tasty.
"No," the child said softly. He pulled his face away from T-Bag's questing tongue. Lowered his eyelashes and pushed.
"I don't believe the slut of Sona is in any position to refuse me," he said. He slipped his hand underneath the boy's shirt. Stroke the flat little tummy before sliding his hand underneath the loose waistband of his slacks.
"You have nothing to trade. I do business. Not..." He pushed. When T-Bag didn't move, he tried again. A frantic look came over his face when T-Bag only increased the pressure, hand sliding further down his pants.
The fear made T-Bag's head spin.
"Stop!" The boy kicked him in the shins and began struggling in earnest. That delicious panic was painting his face. His fingers clawed at T-Bag's arms and tears welled in his eyes.
But, as wonderful as it all was, what T-Bag really needed was a quick fuck, not a long drawn out seduction.
So, he closed off the boy's airway again.
"Listen," he whispered in Tony's ear. "I really don't have time for this. Not today. Next time, you can fight me all you want, as long as you want. But I just spent the last two hours watching Alexander Mahone fucking Michael--my Michael--into oblivion. And then, he woke up, rolled Michael over, and fucked him again. I'm livid at seeing the desecration of my property and I'm feeling randy. So, unless you want me taking your unconscious body, of which I have no problem because it really is a beautiful body, stop fighting and come with me."
The struggling stopped. Big, crocodile tears rolled from his eyes, and he nodded.
"Good." He pulled his hand away. Replaced it with his mouth. Kissed the unresponsive on below his.
He pinched the boy.
That got the response he was looking for. Kissing, tears, and trembling all at once. The best combination.
"Hey!"
T-Bag was roughly pulled away from the boy. Spun around and turned to face the fucking giant.
"You no touch him!" Raoul said in that slow, awkward was of his. He looked at Tony. Frowned. "Why you cry?"
Tony shook his head.
Raoul looked back. "He mine. You no touch."
"I was just..."
"No!"
One huge, meaty paw came out and smacked T-Bag across the face. The blow sent him tumbling back, falling on his ass in the dirt.
"Mine. You no touch," the giant reiterated. Then he took Tony by the arm and led him off into the prison.
T-Bag watched them go, wiping a trail of blood that oozed from his mouth. New plan. First, kill the giant. Then, kill the FBI agent. And then, he could finally claim his property.
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no subject
Date: 2007-11-21 10:17 pm (UTC)He's fun to write and fun to play with. He's also very intimidating. I love the fact that now in Sona he and Alex both think of Michael as their property. It'll be fun later. :)
Thank you!!!