drugs are bad, mmkay?
Title: Drug Lust
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #96, writer's choice "Affection"
Rating: PG-ish
Summary: Drugs apparently make Maytag very friendly
Author's Notes: Set at an undetermined time. Maytag has accepted his position, but just barely, and of course T-Bag has to further corrupt the youth.
“You ever done drugs before, Maytag?” T-Bag said half mockingly as he toyed with a frayed corner of the bed sheet.
“Course. Weed, coke...” he counted off on his fingers at the end of the bed, twisting up his face in thought when all he could remember were nameless little pills and powders shoved at him in dusty basements.
“No no no, not street trash drugs. Everyone’s done them,” T-Bag scoffed, twisting around to make sure no guards were wandering through before pulling out a baggie of so many different pills it may as well have been a bag of Skittles.
“How do you know what’s what?” Maytag asked nervously, convinced that T-Bag might be just crazy enough to take a handful and see what happened.
“They’re all different. Just gotta know what they look like.” When Maytag still looked unsure, T-Bag rolled his eyes, shaking the bag until he found what he wanted. “What, you want a nice little row of prescription bottles lined up on the shelf?”
“No, I trust you,” Maytag mumbled as T-Bag went to the sink and crushed a white pill on the edge.
“Really now?” he laughed, thrusting a rolled up piece of a book page in Maytag’s face, “Prove it.”
“What is it?” Maytag stood and hovered over the sink.
“Thought you trusted me.”
“I do, just wanted to know what it was. What’s it do?” Maytag leaned in closer to the neat little line of powder but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not without knowing what would happen.
“Easy way to find out,” T-Bag smirked, starting to doubt whether the boy had ever done anything at all by the way he resisted, “It ain’t gonna kill ya.”
“Whatever,” Maytag sighed, deciding it probably really wouldn’t kill him. T-Bag wasn’t the type to let someone die like that. With a deep breath and hope that he wasn’t in for a very bad trip, he sent the line rushing into his system and looked to T-Bag with a ‘told ya so’ grin.
“There’s men out there who would kill their mama for what I’m givin’ you, how ‘bout a little gratitude, hm?” T-Bag shoved his stash back out of sight and sat down to wait for the entertainment. He didn’t have to wait long before Maytag was laughing to himself. “Somethin’ funny?”
“Nope,” Maytag grinned, managing to stop his giggling and just smile in that lopsided kinda way. Things were looking up. The cell was much lighter than it had seemed, much more cheery than it had been when he first arrived, and the walls were so cold against his flushed skin. T-Bag’s pants were so much more blue, and he swore he could hear his heartbeat.
“Then what you laughin’ at?” T-Bag smiled at the way he looked around the cell as if seeing it for the first time.
“Nothin’.” Maytag focused his attention on T-Bag, fascinated by the sound of his voice. Why had he never noticed before? So different than everyone back home and much more pleasing to listen to. “Talk.”
“What?”
“Say something.” Maytag crawled forward until he was on hands and knees, straddling T-Bag’s legs. “I like hearing you talk.” His pulse was racing, and his face felt hot, but none of that mattered. Even when he was pulled down by the front of his shirt, the scraping of fingers against his chest felt so good.
“And I’d like to gut you like the fish you are,” T-Bag breathed against the side of his face, releasing his shirt and letting Maytag fall onto his lap. He just laid there, cheek resting on T-Bag’s stomach and looking up with that stupid grin.
“Thank you,” he said finally, making no effort to get up. T-Bag was warm, and he liked the feel of cotton against his face. Disgusted, T-Bag rolled him off, letting him lay squished against the wall. For a long while, Maytag stayed that way, running his hands over the cool concrete until he remembered the warm body next to him.
Pushing himself up, he sat shoulder to shoulder with T-Bag, although the small bed required he sit at a bit of a diagonal, and the fact T-Bag was sitting right in the middle and not about to move over didn’t help. “How many people have you killed?” he asked quietly.
“Can’t be bothered to count.” T-Bag knew exactly how many. He could describe each and every one, but Maytag would just forget anything he told him, and it wasn’t worth saying if he wasn’t going to remember. The answer seemed to satisfy him, though, or maybe he’d already forgotten the question.
“So...a lot.” Maytag’s smile grew, and all the ways he imagined T-Bag had killed people started running through his mind, only now it was different. It was all clearer, but mixed up, pieces of different stories all put together. He could see it, though, as if it were all happening right in their cell, and he could probably reach out and feel how warm the blood was if he tried. His heart beat a little faster, breathing grew a little heavier, and he laughed a little that the drugs even made the idea of T-Bag raping a girl as she cried and bled out way hotter.
Forgetting such a thing as hanging a sheet even existed, he crawled back into T-Bag’s lap, ignoring the irritated look. Before T-Bag could tell him to move or push him on the floor, Maytag kissed him. Soft, like he used to kiss his girlfriend, and really, what was the difference? T-Bag was just convenient, no harm in that. With what Maytag could have sworn was a growl, T-Bag pushed him to the floor, kicking him in the shoulder as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Pain shot through his arm, but maybe it was pleasure, since it didn’t feel particularly bad.
With two handfuls of Maytag’s shirt, T-Bag pulled him to his knees, glaring at that dopey smile. “I oughta kill you for that.”
“For wha-?” A hand at his throat cut the question short. T-Bag was mad at him? The pressure was cutting off his air, and he could feel his frantic heartbeat pounding against T-Bag’s fingers. He was starting to sweat and shake, suddenly so hot in the tiny cell. There was nowhere to move, so little room, and the walls were all so close. With those fingernails digging into the side of his neck, all he could do was make little gasping noises.
No matter how much he pulled at T-Bag’s arms, he couldn’t get any more air. The floor was hurting his knees, and his shoulder hurt, and god dammit, that grip on his neck wasn’t loosening any. He tried to focus on T-Bag’s face, but it kept blurring, and his eyes darted around for help, but from those hazy glimpses all he got was anger. T-Bag’s eyes were dark, mouth twisted into a sneer as he watched Maytag struggle to breathe.
“Maybe I should just kill you,” he hissed, squeezing just a little tighter, “Can’t keep a damn fag like you around.” Maytag’s head shook violently. If T-Bag would let go, he could explain, apologize, whatever he wanted. His vision was starting to fail, and his brain wasn’t working right. He could think clearer than this, he knew he could.
As the struggling weakened, T-Bag seemed to think for a moment, at the verge of finishing the kid off or letting him live awhile longer. Maytag hadn’t even really felt the full effects of the drug yet, and it’d be a shame to miss that, but if one person saw what he’d done, the boy was dead.
Releasing the hold on his neck, T-Bag let him slump to the ground with one last kick for good measure. Maytag coughed and trembled, the whole cell black with swimming shapes in it and the noise of A-Wing making a dull roar in his ears. He couldn’t hear what any of them were saying, but he knew T-Bag was laughing, and the bed squeaked, and there was a rustling of papers. The shaking wouldn’t stop, and he couldn’t get his eyes to focus right. And it was still so damn hot.
T-Bag looked up from his reading every few minutes to see Maytag still shivering and sweating on the floor. Eventually his face softened as the boy started mumbling incoherently and grabbing for things that weren’t really there. God he hated people who got affectionate on drugs.
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #96, writer's choice "Affection"
Rating: PG-ish
Summary: Drugs apparently make Maytag very friendly
Author's Notes: Set at an undetermined time. Maytag has accepted his position, but just barely, and of course T-Bag has to further corrupt the youth.
“You ever done drugs before, Maytag?” T-Bag said half mockingly as he toyed with a frayed corner of the bed sheet.
“Course. Weed, coke...” he counted off on his fingers at the end of the bed, twisting up his face in thought when all he could remember were nameless little pills and powders shoved at him in dusty basements.
“No no no, not street trash drugs. Everyone’s done them,” T-Bag scoffed, twisting around to make sure no guards were wandering through before pulling out a baggie of so many different pills it may as well have been a bag of Skittles.
“How do you know what’s what?” Maytag asked nervously, convinced that T-Bag might be just crazy enough to take a handful and see what happened.
“They’re all different. Just gotta know what they look like.” When Maytag still looked unsure, T-Bag rolled his eyes, shaking the bag until he found what he wanted. “What, you want a nice little row of prescription bottles lined up on the shelf?”
“No, I trust you,” Maytag mumbled as T-Bag went to the sink and crushed a white pill on the edge.
“Really now?” he laughed, thrusting a rolled up piece of a book page in Maytag’s face, “Prove it.”
“What is it?” Maytag stood and hovered over the sink.
“Thought you trusted me.”
“I do, just wanted to know what it was. What’s it do?” Maytag leaned in closer to the neat little line of powder but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not without knowing what would happen.
“Easy way to find out,” T-Bag smirked, starting to doubt whether the boy had ever done anything at all by the way he resisted, “It ain’t gonna kill ya.”
“Whatever,” Maytag sighed, deciding it probably really wouldn’t kill him. T-Bag wasn’t the type to let someone die like that. With a deep breath and hope that he wasn’t in for a very bad trip, he sent the line rushing into his system and looked to T-Bag with a ‘told ya so’ grin.
“There’s men out there who would kill their mama for what I’m givin’ you, how ‘bout a little gratitude, hm?” T-Bag shoved his stash back out of sight and sat down to wait for the entertainment. He didn’t have to wait long before Maytag was laughing to himself. “Somethin’ funny?”
“Nope,” Maytag grinned, managing to stop his giggling and just smile in that lopsided kinda way. Things were looking up. The cell was much lighter than it had seemed, much more cheery than it had been when he first arrived, and the walls were so cold against his flushed skin. T-Bag’s pants were so much more blue, and he swore he could hear his heartbeat.
“Then what you laughin’ at?” T-Bag smiled at the way he looked around the cell as if seeing it for the first time.
“Nothin’.” Maytag focused his attention on T-Bag, fascinated by the sound of his voice. Why had he never noticed before? So different than everyone back home and much more pleasing to listen to. “Talk.”
“What?”
“Say something.” Maytag crawled forward until he was on hands and knees, straddling T-Bag’s legs. “I like hearing you talk.” His pulse was racing, and his face felt hot, but none of that mattered. Even when he was pulled down by the front of his shirt, the scraping of fingers against his chest felt so good.
“And I’d like to gut you like the fish you are,” T-Bag breathed against the side of his face, releasing his shirt and letting Maytag fall onto his lap. He just laid there, cheek resting on T-Bag’s stomach and looking up with that stupid grin.
“Thank you,” he said finally, making no effort to get up. T-Bag was warm, and he liked the feel of cotton against his face. Disgusted, T-Bag rolled him off, letting him lay squished against the wall. For a long while, Maytag stayed that way, running his hands over the cool concrete until he remembered the warm body next to him.
Pushing himself up, he sat shoulder to shoulder with T-Bag, although the small bed required he sit at a bit of a diagonal, and the fact T-Bag was sitting right in the middle and not about to move over didn’t help. “How many people have you killed?” he asked quietly.
“Can’t be bothered to count.” T-Bag knew exactly how many. He could describe each and every one, but Maytag would just forget anything he told him, and it wasn’t worth saying if he wasn’t going to remember. The answer seemed to satisfy him, though, or maybe he’d already forgotten the question.
“So...a lot.” Maytag’s smile grew, and all the ways he imagined T-Bag had killed people started running through his mind, only now it was different. It was all clearer, but mixed up, pieces of different stories all put together. He could see it, though, as if it were all happening right in their cell, and he could probably reach out and feel how warm the blood was if he tried. His heart beat a little faster, breathing grew a little heavier, and he laughed a little that the drugs even made the idea of T-Bag raping a girl as she cried and bled out way hotter.
Forgetting such a thing as hanging a sheet even existed, he crawled back into T-Bag’s lap, ignoring the irritated look. Before T-Bag could tell him to move or push him on the floor, Maytag kissed him. Soft, like he used to kiss his girlfriend, and really, what was the difference? T-Bag was just convenient, no harm in that. With what Maytag could have sworn was a growl, T-Bag pushed him to the floor, kicking him in the shoulder as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. Pain shot through his arm, but maybe it was pleasure, since it didn’t feel particularly bad.
With two handfuls of Maytag’s shirt, T-Bag pulled him to his knees, glaring at that dopey smile. “I oughta kill you for that.”
“For wha-?” A hand at his throat cut the question short. T-Bag was mad at him? The pressure was cutting off his air, and he could feel his frantic heartbeat pounding against T-Bag’s fingers. He was starting to sweat and shake, suddenly so hot in the tiny cell. There was nowhere to move, so little room, and the walls were all so close. With those fingernails digging into the side of his neck, all he could do was make little gasping noises.
No matter how much he pulled at T-Bag’s arms, he couldn’t get any more air. The floor was hurting his knees, and his shoulder hurt, and god dammit, that grip on his neck wasn’t loosening any. He tried to focus on T-Bag’s face, but it kept blurring, and his eyes darted around for help, but from those hazy glimpses all he got was anger. T-Bag’s eyes were dark, mouth twisted into a sneer as he watched Maytag struggle to breathe.
“Maybe I should just kill you,” he hissed, squeezing just a little tighter, “Can’t keep a damn fag like you around.” Maytag’s head shook violently. If T-Bag would let go, he could explain, apologize, whatever he wanted. His vision was starting to fail, and his brain wasn’t working right. He could think clearer than this, he knew he could.
As the struggling weakened, T-Bag seemed to think for a moment, at the verge of finishing the kid off or letting him live awhile longer. Maytag hadn’t even really felt the full effects of the drug yet, and it’d be a shame to miss that, but if one person saw what he’d done, the boy was dead.
Releasing the hold on his neck, T-Bag let him slump to the ground with one last kick for good measure. Maytag coughed and trembled, the whole cell black with swimming shapes in it and the noise of A-Wing making a dull roar in his ears. He couldn’t hear what any of them were saying, but he knew T-Bag was laughing, and the bed squeaked, and there was a rustling of papers. The shaking wouldn’t stop, and he couldn’t get his eyes to focus right. And it was still so damn hot.
T-Bag looked up from his reading every few minutes to see Maytag still shivering and sweating on the floor. Eventually his face softened as the boy started mumbling incoherently and grabbing for things that weren’t really there. God he hated people who got affectionate on drugs.