T-Bag/Maytag, touch
Title: Kiss Me Deadly
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #38, touch
Rating: heavy pg13/light R...bumsex with no naughty bits mentioned
Summary: Can you teach an old dog new tricks?
Author's Notes: Since there was such a desire for Passive Aggressive to end with hot making out, I give you semi-part 2, although it doesn't particularly connect in any way other than in my mind. Maytag doesn't bitch quite as much. Moody little brat.
Sometimes being around T-Bag made it hard to breathe. Other times he couldn’t breathe without him. It was a sick addiction, one of the ones you didn’t know you had until it was taken away. T-Bag was an annoyance and frustrating and never missed an opportunity to hurt him, but when he was gone, Maytag had nothing. And Maytag hated having nothing.
“Ah, where ya goin’, girly?” T-Bag murmured when Maytag tried to flip them over so he was on top, but T-Bag pinned him down with a knee to the chest. Maytag relaxed against the mattress and lifted his hips so T-Bag could continue yanking his pants off. He never really expected to get away with it, but maybe if he kept trying, one time it would work.
Same routine, shut up, bend over, go to sleep. For all the attention T-Bag paid him, he was just a flesh and blood blow up doll. Then again, maybe T-Bag could actually make one of those if there was a way to preserve a body long enough. He shivered and got harder against T-Bag’s thigh. Some trashy little apartment on the outside, and a dead girl on the bed just there to use for awhile. Maybe you had to take the organs out. He’d look it up later.
“Hey, T,” Maytag breathed, pulling T-Bag down by the shoulder to be sure he was looking at him.
“Hm?”
“What’s it like to fuck a dead girl?”
T-Bag cocked his head, tongue running slowly across his bottom lip as Maytag grinned up at him. “Cold.”
“Ugh, I’m serious,” Maytag groaned, grinding up into T-Bag’s leg until his hips were held down.
“Well for one, they don’t move.” When Maytag stopped squirming under his grip, he let go. “N’ they are cold. All that pretty life drained right out of ‘em. N’ you can do whatever you want and there’s nothin’ they can do about it no more.”
Maytag tried to imagine the feeling, maybe like being paralyzed, utterly helpless. What it would be like for T-Bag to really have no concern about being too rough, couldn’t kill him twice after all. It was driving him crazy as T-Bag was lost in his own little memories, but he resisted the urge to push into him again. He’d hold still like T-Bag wanted. If he could have, he’d be cold for him too.
“Hurry up,” he whined, jolting T-Bag’s attention back to the present.
“Shhh.” Somehow T-Bag always managed to make a smile anything but comforting. Still, Maytag always liked it best when they were facing each other, even if it did hurt his back when he was pulled into uncomfortable angles. That way T-Bag had to look at him and couldn’t pretend he was just an object, and he could see everything that was happening instead of a face full of pillow.
T-Bag kinda liked it too. No matter how nice it was to see Maytag’s face squished into the mattress, it was better to see it all twisted up in pain. And he could watch the boy watching him and know he was paying attention.
Maytag’s eyes fell closed with a little moan, and T-Bag grabbed him by the hair. “Watch.” He kept hold of his head as he pushed forward, only letting go when he needed the hand to keep Maytag’s hips up.
With every thrust, Maytag’s face twitched from the effort of keeping his eyes open and focused, but the intense look of concentration staring down at him was worth it. He shivered at the thought of what T-Bag must see. He couldn’t just stare at the back of his head now, he had to look him in the eye and acknowledge it was a real person he was fucking.
Maytag watched just like T-Bag told him to. If T-Bag thought it was a punishment, he was very much mistaken, it may as well have been a chance to see a master musician play up close and study all the little details of his craft. The position didn’t provide much leverage, so Maytag let himself be pulled and shifted however T-Bag wanted, just happy to see all the little expressions he always missed.
Someday T-Bag was gonna take advantage of all that exposed skin right in front of him. Facing each other, Maytag’s chest and stomach were at the perfect level to slide a knife in and watch his face as all that pretty blood ran out. Kid was so messed up, he’d probably just laugh as he bled out. It’d be a bit of an experiment, see if he found dying so fun when he was the one bleeding all over the sheets.
Whatever T-Bag was thinking about, Maytag just hoped it wasn’t someone else. He didn’t care if he was thinking of killing him or torturing him, but he would not be a surrogate corpse. Still, T-Bag kept looking at him for as long as he could manage until his eyes slipped closed with a low moan, and he’d damn well better have been thinking of Maytag as he came.
If he needed a reminder of who was beneath him, he’d get one. Before T-Bag could open his eyes and roll over, Maytag pushed himself up and kissed him as well as the awkward position allowed. He felt T-Bag’s head jerk away a fraction of an inch then correct the angle, stealing control of the kiss from him. It was surprisingly nice, and Maytag thought he could easily get used to such things, but T-Bag wasn’t about to linger. It was an odd sensation, though not altogether unpleasant, to have someone kissing him instead of screaming and twisting their head away. But it only took one to blur the lines and leave the victim confused to have such violence mixed with affection. Any more and the kid was bound to start cuddling. He quickly pulled away and let Maytag scoot off the bed without a word, though the fact he didn’t strangle him on the spot spoke volumes.
Smiling, Maytag climbed into the top bunk and got comfortable. It wasn’t the nicest kiss in the world, but T-Bag hadn’t killed him for it, had even returned it, so it was a start. And nothing ever came easy with that man.
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #38, touch
Rating: heavy pg13/light R...bumsex with no naughty bits mentioned
Summary: Can you teach an old dog new tricks?
Author's Notes: Since there was such a desire for Passive Aggressive to end with hot making out, I give you semi-part 2, although it doesn't particularly connect in any way other than in my mind. Maytag doesn't bitch quite as much. Moody little brat.
Sometimes being around T-Bag made it hard to breathe. Other times he couldn’t breathe without him. It was a sick addiction, one of the ones you didn’t know you had until it was taken away. T-Bag was an annoyance and frustrating and never missed an opportunity to hurt him, but when he was gone, Maytag had nothing. And Maytag hated having nothing.
“Ah, where ya goin’, girly?” T-Bag murmured when Maytag tried to flip them over so he was on top, but T-Bag pinned him down with a knee to the chest. Maytag relaxed against the mattress and lifted his hips so T-Bag could continue yanking his pants off. He never really expected to get away with it, but maybe if he kept trying, one time it would work.
Same routine, shut up, bend over, go to sleep. For all the attention T-Bag paid him, he was just a flesh and blood blow up doll. Then again, maybe T-Bag could actually make one of those if there was a way to preserve a body long enough. He shivered and got harder against T-Bag’s thigh. Some trashy little apartment on the outside, and a dead girl on the bed just there to use for awhile. Maybe you had to take the organs out. He’d look it up later.
“Hey, T,” Maytag breathed, pulling T-Bag down by the shoulder to be sure he was looking at him.
“Hm?”
“What’s it like to fuck a dead girl?”
T-Bag cocked his head, tongue running slowly across his bottom lip as Maytag grinned up at him. “Cold.”
“Ugh, I’m serious,” Maytag groaned, grinding up into T-Bag’s leg until his hips were held down.
“Well for one, they don’t move.” When Maytag stopped squirming under his grip, he let go. “N’ they are cold. All that pretty life drained right out of ‘em. N’ you can do whatever you want and there’s nothin’ they can do about it no more.”
Maytag tried to imagine the feeling, maybe like being paralyzed, utterly helpless. What it would be like for T-Bag to really have no concern about being too rough, couldn’t kill him twice after all. It was driving him crazy as T-Bag was lost in his own little memories, but he resisted the urge to push into him again. He’d hold still like T-Bag wanted. If he could have, he’d be cold for him too.
“Hurry up,” he whined, jolting T-Bag’s attention back to the present.
“Shhh.” Somehow T-Bag always managed to make a smile anything but comforting. Still, Maytag always liked it best when they were facing each other, even if it did hurt his back when he was pulled into uncomfortable angles. That way T-Bag had to look at him and couldn’t pretend he was just an object, and he could see everything that was happening instead of a face full of pillow.
T-Bag kinda liked it too. No matter how nice it was to see Maytag’s face squished into the mattress, it was better to see it all twisted up in pain. And he could watch the boy watching him and know he was paying attention.
Maytag’s eyes fell closed with a little moan, and T-Bag grabbed him by the hair. “Watch.” He kept hold of his head as he pushed forward, only letting go when he needed the hand to keep Maytag’s hips up.
With every thrust, Maytag’s face twitched from the effort of keeping his eyes open and focused, but the intense look of concentration staring down at him was worth it. He shivered at the thought of what T-Bag must see. He couldn’t just stare at the back of his head now, he had to look him in the eye and acknowledge it was a real person he was fucking.
Maytag watched just like T-Bag told him to. If T-Bag thought it was a punishment, he was very much mistaken, it may as well have been a chance to see a master musician play up close and study all the little details of his craft. The position didn’t provide much leverage, so Maytag let himself be pulled and shifted however T-Bag wanted, just happy to see all the little expressions he always missed.
Someday T-Bag was gonna take advantage of all that exposed skin right in front of him. Facing each other, Maytag’s chest and stomach were at the perfect level to slide a knife in and watch his face as all that pretty blood ran out. Kid was so messed up, he’d probably just laugh as he bled out. It’d be a bit of an experiment, see if he found dying so fun when he was the one bleeding all over the sheets.
Whatever T-Bag was thinking about, Maytag just hoped it wasn’t someone else. He didn’t care if he was thinking of killing him or torturing him, but he would not be a surrogate corpse. Still, T-Bag kept looking at him for as long as he could manage until his eyes slipped closed with a low moan, and he’d damn well better have been thinking of Maytag as he came.
If he needed a reminder of who was beneath him, he’d get one. Before T-Bag could open his eyes and roll over, Maytag pushed himself up and kissed him as well as the awkward position allowed. He felt T-Bag’s head jerk away a fraction of an inch then correct the angle, stealing control of the kiss from him. It was surprisingly nice, and Maytag thought he could easily get used to such things, but T-Bag wasn’t about to linger. It was an odd sensation, though not altogether unpleasant, to have someone kissing him instead of screaming and twisting their head away. But it only took one to blur the lines and leave the victim confused to have such violence mixed with affection. Any more and the kid was bound to start cuddling. He quickly pulled away and let Maytag scoot off the bed without a word, though the fact he didn’t strangle him on the spot spoke volumes.
Smiling, Maytag climbed into the top bunk and got comfortable. It wasn’t the nicest kiss in the world, but T-Bag hadn’t killed him for it, had even returned it, so it was a start. And nothing ever came easy with that man.