T-Bag/Maytag, middles
Title: Touched
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #2, "Middles"
Rating: PG-ish for references to violence
Summary: All those insides are so interesting...
Author's Notes: No matter how hard I tried, the only thing I thought of when I read the "middles" prompt was "belly!". So I gave up trying to fight it. -_-
He loved Maytag’s middle. His stomach and back looked so good covered in bruises and scratches and bite marks. Every night was there in faded scars and faint bruises. He loved the way it all trembled when he was breathing heavy or crying. Maytag didn’t cry very much anymore, though, just laughed in that naughty kinda way.
And the way he looked laying on his back, T-Bag could picture all those insides just under the skin. Someday he’d see what was really in there. Maybe it would be different than all the other people he’d looked inside ‘cause Maytag was different, and he was pretty sure his own insides wouldn’t look the same either. There was some book with pictures of serial killers’ brains, how they supposedly lit up differently, all those middle parts must look different too. Maybe Maytag’s insides didn’t work the same way, since he didn’t get sick when there was a body all cut up, he just got turned on. Maybe he’d bleed more or keep breathing longer once he’d been cut open just ‘cause he was a stubborn little bastard.
T-Bag hoped he would stay alive longer, draw out that grey area between life and death. Maytag would look so pretty with his insides all laid out and eyes still blinking, lungs still filling up where he could watch. If he was real careful to go slow and just make a nice hole like them surgeons did, maybe he could see it all still living. Sometimes he’d run his fingers over Maytag’s stomach, picturing where each piece was just under the muscle. Maybe Maytag knew what he was doing and just didn’t care. He didn’t seem to mind when T-Bag suggested he’d be the prettiest corpse yet.
Maytag loved touching him. It made him feel strong and important, even if it was really T-Bag who was the important one. All that killing power just under the skin, Maytag could feel it when he touched him, tingling and making him want to hurt someone. Sometimes he’d roll over and drape an arm over T-Bag, resting his hand on the man’s stomach. T-Bag would kick him if he noticed ‘cause he didn’t like being touched like that, said it was soft and weak, and Maytag wasn’t weak no more.
T-Bag was all pushing and grabbing and fingernails, and Maytag wasn’t about to complain, but he didn’t see what was so wrong about just touching for the sake of touching. Holding the pocket, sometimes he could get away with resting his hand against T-Bag’s leg or standing real close just to remind him he existed, but back in the cell, if he wasn’t dragging his fingernails down T-Bag’s chest on the way to taking his pants off, he could keep his hands to himself.
That was ok. T-Bag wasn’t any good for cuddling, all angles and bone, and Maytag had never liked that sappy stuff anyway. It wasn’t like he was begging for a hug and whispering ‘I love you’. With all that warm flesh under his fingers, steady heartbeat, he could picture the blood rushing just beneath the surface and imagine how good it would feel to let it all out. Better T-Bag think he was weak than know what he was really doing, he figured.
It was all planned out, exactly where he wanted to cut, and he’d trail his thumb over T-Bag’s side as he thought about it. Not fatal, he could never kill him, but plenty bloody. That was all he wanted. Didn’t even have to be T-Bag really, but all those ideas that came to him as he was trying to fall asleep were so much more vivid if he had skin to touch.
With a mumbled curse, T-Bag pushed him away, the damn boy and all his touchy feely shit. Almost made him think the kid was a fag deep down, but he probably just wasn’t hugged enough as a child or some psychobabble like that. The things they always tried to use to explain how he could kill someone and not care. Didn’t matter the reason, it was annoying to wake up with those ticklish sorta feelings from barely being touched. Too late at night to punish him, though, he’d deal with it in the morning. Put a few more marks on that beautiful middle of his.
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #2, "Middles"
Rating: PG-ish for references to violence
Summary: All those insides are so interesting...
Author's Notes: No matter how hard I tried, the only thing I thought of when I read the "middles" prompt was "belly!". So I gave up trying to fight it. -_-
He loved Maytag’s middle. His stomach and back looked so good covered in bruises and scratches and bite marks. Every night was there in faded scars and faint bruises. He loved the way it all trembled when he was breathing heavy or crying. Maytag didn’t cry very much anymore, though, just laughed in that naughty kinda way.
And the way he looked laying on his back, T-Bag could picture all those insides just under the skin. Someday he’d see what was really in there. Maybe it would be different than all the other people he’d looked inside ‘cause Maytag was different, and he was pretty sure his own insides wouldn’t look the same either. There was some book with pictures of serial killers’ brains, how they supposedly lit up differently, all those middle parts must look different too. Maybe Maytag’s insides didn’t work the same way, since he didn’t get sick when there was a body all cut up, he just got turned on. Maybe he’d bleed more or keep breathing longer once he’d been cut open just ‘cause he was a stubborn little bastard.
T-Bag hoped he would stay alive longer, draw out that grey area between life and death. Maytag would look so pretty with his insides all laid out and eyes still blinking, lungs still filling up where he could watch. If he was real careful to go slow and just make a nice hole like them surgeons did, maybe he could see it all still living. Sometimes he’d run his fingers over Maytag’s stomach, picturing where each piece was just under the muscle. Maybe Maytag knew what he was doing and just didn’t care. He didn’t seem to mind when T-Bag suggested he’d be the prettiest corpse yet.
Maytag loved touching him. It made him feel strong and important, even if it was really T-Bag who was the important one. All that killing power just under the skin, Maytag could feel it when he touched him, tingling and making him want to hurt someone. Sometimes he’d roll over and drape an arm over T-Bag, resting his hand on the man’s stomach. T-Bag would kick him if he noticed ‘cause he didn’t like being touched like that, said it was soft and weak, and Maytag wasn’t weak no more.
T-Bag was all pushing and grabbing and fingernails, and Maytag wasn’t about to complain, but he didn’t see what was so wrong about just touching for the sake of touching. Holding the pocket, sometimes he could get away with resting his hand against T-Bag’s leg or standing real close just to remind him he existed, but back in the cell, if he wasn’t dragging his fingernails down T-Bag’s chest on the way to taking his pants off, he could keep his hands to himself.
That was ok. T-Bag wasn’t any good for cuddling, all angles and bone, and Maytag had never liked that sappy stuff anyway. It wasn’t like he was begging for a hug and whispering ‘I love you’. With all that warm flesh under his fingers, steady heartbeat, he could picture the blood rushing just beneath the surface and imagine how good it would feel to let it all out. Better T-Bag think he was weak than know what he was really doing, he figured.
It was all planned out, exactly where he wanted to cut, and he’d trail his thumb over T-Bag’s side as he thought about it. Not fatal, he could never kill him, but plenty bloody. That was all he wanted. Didn’t even have to be T-Bag really, but all those ideas that came to him as he was trying to fall asleep were so much more vivid if he had skin to touch.
With a mumbled curse, T-Bag pushed him away, the damn boy and all his touchy feely shit. Almost made him think the kid was a fag deep down, but he probably just wasn’t hugged enough as a child or some psychobabble like that. The things they always tried to use to explain how he could kill someone and not care. Didn’t matter the reason, it was annoying to wake up with those ticklish sorta feelings from barely being touched. Too late at night to punish him, though, he’d deal with it in the morning. Put a few more marks on that beautiful middle of his.