(no subject)
Title: No Hard Feelings
Characters: T-Bag/Abruzzi
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: necrophilia, character death, SPOILERS for finale, generally disturbing content
Word Count: 1327
Notes: This is seriously twisted. I don’t know if I should be worried or proud, lol. I think that T-Bag loves saying John’s name.
Disclaimer: I own a Chi Hua Hua, but none of these characters.
“You know, John, there’s one thing I’ve got to thank you for. Since ya took my hand,” he purrs, as he waves his prosthesis in the air, “I’ve had to become a lot more creative in my vocation.”
John slowly realizes he’s being spoken to, that it’s T-Bag’s dominating presence hovering over him. He tries to go for his throat, but realizes he can’t move an inch as his hands and ankles are bound painfully tight to a chair. Everything is fuzzy for a moment, as a wave of nausea overtakes him.
“Feeling sick John? That’s too bad. I’ve recently had the opportunity to learn a few things about medicine, havin’ to care for this lovely new stump an’ all. Chloroform, John. You may have heard of it before. You know, knocks ya out. Incapacitates you. Has a tendency to leave ya a little sick afterwards, too.”
T-bag reached out with his good hand to caress John’s face, the scar on his neck. Leaning in, he took a lock of John’s hair and smelled it, while he cringed away from him. T-bag knows how disgusted John is, and he loves it. So he allows his tongue to dart out over the scar, causing John to struggle, violently trying to get away from him.
“Don’t touch me you sick fuck! I always knew you were a faggot, even out of prison. Don’t you touch me again, I’ll fucking kill you!”
“What’s this John, a touch of homophobia? Oh, you are too precious. You think I’m going to rape your sweet born-again ass John? Nah, no you should know me better’n that. First of all I’d never allow you the pleasure,” he smirks. “Maybe when you’re dead and you cant enjoy it, but tha’s later. Secondly, and you should know this, John, I’m much more devious than that. No, why would I want to fuck you, when I’ve got your pretty little wife right here?” T-bag turns John’s chair so he can see his wife lying on the floor, unconscious.
“You son of a bitch don’t you fucking touch her!” John yells as he bucks and writhes trying to free himself.
T-bag walks over to her, kicks her leg and tells her to wake up. “Huh? Ok, sure honey, I’m up. I’m up.” She stumbles to her feet, unaware of what’s going on. She’s in her own little world, the world T-Bag put her in with whatever drugs he gave her.
“Be a darlin’ and come on over here,” T-bag cooed. She walked over to him smiling all the way. “You see John, I’ve still got it, even without my hand. Still got that southern charm, gets ‘em every time.”
“You’re going to pay, Theodore. So very dearly, if you so much as lay another finger on her, do you hear me?”
“Unfortunately, your wife here is the one who’s going to pay.” T-bag drags her over next to John, holds her facing him. “Say goodbye to John, Darlin’. It’s time to go.” John strains pointlessly against the bindings.
“See you when I get home, sweetie.” At that T-Bag pulled out the box cutter from his pocket and plunged it into her throat, ripping it across the other side. John screams and struggles, crying. T-Bag allows his still-smiling wife to fall into his lap, and walks away to sit on the table on the opposite side of the room. He watches her bleed out onto her distraught husband as he casually strokes himself through his jeans.
“Oh, how this brings back memories, John.”
A few minutes later, when his wife becomes still, and John is still weeping, T-Bag slides off of the table and walks back to them. He picks up her body, drapes her over her mourning husband, and starts to rip away her clothes. John slowly lifts his head.
“What are you doing?” His voice is breaking.
T-Bag doesn’t answer him, he simply chuckles and continues removing the last of her garments. As he begins to desecrate her cooling body John can do nothing but throw his head back in agony, in attempt to get as far away from this as possible. He squeezes his eyes closed tight, but nothing can stop him from feeling his wife’s body being thrust against his thighs.
When T-Bag is finished, he zips up his pants, straightens his shirt, and realizes there’s blood coated on his prosthesis. He holds it up to wipe it clean, and as John watches he pulls the whole thing off. T-Bag gazes at John, loving the look of despair on his face when he sees T-Bag’s stump.
“What’s the matter john? Go on, admire your handiwork,” he spouts, as he caresses John’s face once again, this time with a naked stump. T-Bag expects him to recoil at his touch, but instead he is frozen, his eyes empty.
“Awe c’mon, now. Don’t break so easy. I haven’t even started with you.”
T-Bag nudges the corpse and it falls from John’s lap, thudding harshly on the concrete floor. John flinches at the sound.
“Couple mistakes you made, John. Takin’ my hand from me. And then thinking’ I’d never catch up to you.”
T-Bag stands in front of him, putting his hand on the back of the chair he leans in so their faces are only inches away. John’s eyes flick up to meet T-Bag with a renewed animosity.
“The only mistake I made that day was leaving you lying on the ground, still breathing,” John growled, before spitting in T-Bag’s face.
“Seems I’ve made that mistake once myself, John.” T-Bag sighs, stepping back to wipe his face. “You can be sure it wont happen again. No, today I wont be making any miscalculations. You see, your god has given me a second chance. Or maybe that’d be the third, or fourth even. Who’s counting?” he chuckles, gingerly. “He’s given me this chance to finish what I started all those nights ago.”
T-Bag gets out the box cutter once more and uses it to slowly pop off each button from John’s shirt. He peels it open, exposing his pale, heaving chest. He takes his time as he starts kissing John’s collar, moving down to his chest, and he stops to look up at his face as he bites his nipple. He’s not getting any kind of reaction from him.
“Oh, John, please don’t tell me I broke you so soon. I want to make this last, ain’t you havin’ any fun?”
T-Bag unzips the other man’s pants, and takes a firm grip, stroking him vigorously. He keeps his gaze on John’s expressionless face, and cant help but be disappointed at the fact he’s staring at the wall behind him. Frustrated, he stands up and grabs the box cutter once again.
“It’s a shame, I think we both could have enjoyed that. Since you seem so disinterested I’ll move on to the next attraction. ”
T-Bag took the blade and made a shallow slit down the middle of his chest. Unsatisfied with John’s silence he made a second, deeper slash. John finally winced, surrendering two burning tears.
“Just scream for me, and this will all be over,” he whispered in his ear.
John was sobbing now, his body limp, head hanging low. He knew that he had to scream. He looked at his wife at his feet, dead and beautiful, and he wanted to scream.
T-Bag grabbed him by his hair and jerked his head up, staring into his eyes, and yelled at him “All you’ve got to do is scream for me John! Scream!”
John screamed. He screamed while T-Bag smiled, while T-Bag pressed their foreheads together, while he stroked his face once again. He screamed until T-Bag carved open that beautiful scar in one graceful movement, tears of his own streaming down his face.
As the blood began to slow, T-Bag caressed his face in his hand one last time, and whispered almost mournfully:
“No hard feelin’s, John.”