Questions
I wrote something an hour ago. But let me just say to the talented authors out there, thank you for inspiration, and I do plan on reading all of your latest fics! I've just been preoccupied with my own thoughts. But I love each and every story I read, and I always try to leave feedback. You all rock!
Anyway....
Title: Questions
Pairing: Maytag/T-Bag
Rating: I guess it could qualify as PG-13 (minimal violence, alludes to sexual stuff, only a couple obscenities)
Summary: Jason knows what happens when he talks out of turn. (I suck at summaries.)
Author's Notes: I finally decided that I want my first posted fic to be un-beta'ed. That way everyone can see how my writing is when it's uncut. I do believe that editing is a good thing, but I wanted to wing it. And if all I get is crap about it, then I guess I know that I should never skip a beta read. So, don't be afraid to tell me that my story sucks. Also, I had to jump on the Maytag bandwagon. He's really grown on me. One more thing: I hate my title because I'm pretty sure it's been used a million times. Alright, carry on.
Jason lay on his back with his hands folded behind his head. He stared at a spot on the ceiling that held no particular meaning to him, but it worked just fine for projecting thoughts in which to get lost.
Oddly enough, he mostly thought about T-Bag. He had been in prison for six months, and he had endured all manners of abuse from the man lying just two-and-a-half feet beneath him, but that didn't deflect his thoughts on the subject. There were no distracting puppies or rainbows floating through his head. There was only the pain.
The pain acted as a numbing agent, blocking out Jason's abuse and hardships from the past. It was a new kind of pain. It came attached with protection and companionship, rather than pure hate.
He used to think about his sister and his mother as he lay in his bunk. They were the only people in his life who seemed to give a damn about him. But they had faded away over the months, after never visiting or writing. So much for family.
T-Bag was the only one he cared about now, and he took up all his time. He was rarely seen unattached from the infamous pocket. He had other friends and was allowed to mingle and chat with the general population, but he was never more than a stone's throw away from his protective cellmate.
Jason smiled to himself, never breaking away from the spot on the ceiling. He was lost in memories.
His first quiet night with T-Bag had been spent asking questions.
"T-Bag?"
He was met only with a loud sigh from below.
After swallowing the slight lump in his throat, he continued. "Do you believe in God?"
There was a heavy pause, and Jason first thought that he wasn't going to get an answer, but then the Southern drawl began. "I believe in life and death, and that one always follows the other. What more is there to be concerned about?"
This answer made the younger man frown. "So, you don't believe that there's someone up there watching us? You don't think we came from something greater?"
"Your queries are tiresome, boy. Go to sleep." There was a rustling of sheets below.
Jason contemplated trying to sleep, but his curiosity always got the better of him.
"T-Bag?"
More rustling of sheets, and then the voice spoke again. "Was I not clear on the rules? Your mouth should only be open for three reasons: to answer me when I ask you a question, to pleasure me as I see fit, and to proclaim to the entire cell block that what goes on inside this cell is not fun and games. Therefore, I should not be hearing questions rolling off your tongue, you understand?"
Jason knew he might get beaten for it, but the question burned in his mouth. "But what about eating?" he blurted. He immediately clamped his mouth shut and braced himself for whatever may come his way.
Another heavy pause hung in the air, like the eerie calm that settles over an area when the eye of a tornado passes through. Jason could hear his own heartbeat in the overbearing silence.
If T-Bag had been Jason's sister, he would have said, "I'm pretending I didn't hear that." If he had been Jason's mother, he would have said, "Well, I suppose that's a very good point."
But T-Bag wasn't either of these people. Not at all.
Sheets rustled and the bed creaked. Jason closed his eyes and strained his ears. He heard feet make contact with the floor. Jason had removed his hands from behind his head and huddled them near his neck in a defensive manner, though he knew it wouldn't matter what he did.
A cold hand seized his elbow, fingertips digging into his already-bruised skin, and yanked his arm hard enough to pull him out of bed.
Jason had managed only to grasp onto his pillow in his futile attempt to stop himself from falling. He landed hard on his side, pain shooting through his hip and into his entire midsection.
"Ah, fuck!" he cried, holding his side with his free hand. His other hand dangled helplessly above him, its arm detained in T-Bag's firm grasp.
T-Bag bent down and grabbed his other arm, roughly pulling him up. He slammed him back against the bars, cracking his head against the cold steel and eliciting a distressed groan.
A warm rush of air hit Jason's ear as T-Bag spoke. "I find your candor to be disrespectful. You know what happens when you disrespect me."
His first quiet night with the murderer hadn't stayed quiet for long.
Jason relived that night in his mind, grinning at the spot on the ceiling. He could feel himself growing excited, and he knew the easiest way to relieve that urge.
"T-Bag?" He paused before continuing. "Do you believe in Heaven?"
Okay, rip me apart! :)
~Ferryn
Anyway....
Title: Questions
Pairing: Maytag/T-Bag
Rating: I guess it could qualify as PG-13 (minimal violence, alludes to sexual stuff, only a couple obscenities)
Summary: Jason knows what happens when he talks out of turn. (I suck at summaries.)
Author's Notes: I finally decided that I want my first posted fic to be un-beta'ed. That way everyone can see how my writing is when it's uncut. I do believe that editing is a good thing, but I wanted to wing it. And if all I get is crap about it, then I guess I know that I should never skip a beta read. So, don't be afraid to tell me that my story sucks. Also, I had to jump on the Maytag bandwagon. He's really grown on me. One more thing: I hate my title because I'm pretty sure it's been used a million times. Alright, carry on.
Jason lay on his back with his hands folded behind his head. He stared at a spot on the ceiling that held no particular meaning to him, but it worked just fine for projecting thoughts in which to get lost.
Oddly enough, he mostly thought about T-Bag. He had been in prison for six months, and he had endured all manners of abuse from the man lying just two-and-a-half feet beneath him, but that didn't deflect his thoughts on the subject. There were no distracting puppies or rainbows floating through his head. There was only the pain.
The pain acted as a numbing agent, blocking out Jason's abuse and hardships from the past. It was a new kind of pain. It came attached with protection and companionship, rather than pure hate.
He used to think about his sister and his mother as he lay in his bunk. They were the only people in his life who seemed to give a damn about him. But they had faded away over the months, after never visiting or writing. So much for family.
T-Bag was the only one he cared about now, and he took up all his time. He was rarely seen unattached from the infamous pocket. He had other friends and was allowed to mingle and chat with the general population, but he was never more than a stone's throw away from his protective cellmate.
Jason smiled to himself, never breaking away from the spot on the ceiling. He was lost in memories.
His first quiet night with T-Bag had been spent asking questions.
"T-Bag?"
He was met only with a loud sigh from below.
After swallowing the slight lump in his throat, he continued. "Do you believe in God?"
There was a heavy pause, and Jason first thought that he wasn't going to get an answer, but then the Southern drawl began. "I believe in life and death, and that one always follows the other. What more is there to be concerned about?"
This answer made the younger man frown. "So, you don't believe that there's someone up there watching us? You don't think we came from something greater?"
"Your queries are tiresome, boy. Go to sleep." There was a rustling of sheets below.
Jason contemplated trying to sleep, but his curiosity always got the better of him.
"T-Bag?"
More rustling of sheets, and then the voice spoke again. "Was I not clear on the rules? Your mouth should only be open for three reasons: to answer me when I ask you a question, to pleasure me as I see fit, and to proclaim to the entire cell block that what goes on inside this cell is not fun and games. Therefore, I should not be hearing questions rolling off your tongue, you understand?"
Jason knew he might get beaten for it, but the question burned in his mouth. "But what about eating?" he blurted. He immediately clamped his mouth shut and braced himself for whatever may come his way.
Another heavy pause hung in the air, like the eerie calm that settles over an area when the eye of a tornado passes through. Jason could hear his own heartbeat in the overbearing silence.
If T-Bag had been Jason's sister, he would have said, "I'm pretending I didn't hear that." If he had been Jason's mother, he would have said, "Well, I suppose that's a very good point."
But T-Bag wasn't either of these people. Not at all.
Sheets rustled and the bed creaked. Jason closed his eyes and strained his ears. He heard feet make contact with the floor. Jason had removed his hands from behind his head and huddled them near his neck in a defensive manner, though he knew it wouldn't matter what he did.
A cold hand seized his elbow, fingertips digging into his already-bruised skin, and yanked his arm hard enough to pull him out of bed.
Jason had managed only to grasp onto his pillow in his futile attempt to stop himself from falling. He landed hard on his side, pain shooting through his hip and into his entire midsection.
"Ah, fuck!" he cried, holding his side with his free hand. His other hand dangled helplessly above him, its arm detained in T-Bag's firm grasp.
T-Bag bent down and grabbed his other arm, roughly pulling him up. He slammed him back against the bars, cracking his head against the cold steel and eliciting a distressed groan.
A warm rush of air hit Jason's ear as T-Bag spoke. "I find your candor to be disrespectful. You know what happens when you disrespect me."
His first quiet night with the murderer hadn't stayed quiet for long.
Jason relived that night in his mind, grinning at the spot on the ceiling. He could feel himself growing excited, and he knew the easiest way to relieve that urge.
"T-Bag?" He paused before continuing. "Do you believe in Heaven?"
Okay, rip me apart! :)
~Ferryn