T-Bag/Maytag, square
Title: Envy
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #41, "square"
Rating: R-ish
Summary: Michael brings out Maytag's catty side.
Author's Notes: Maytag withdrawal anyone? Been catching up on everything I neglected over my mini weekend vacation, finally caught up on enough to finish something Maytag. Jealous little prick. But considering that's the only in-show Maytag, I kinda have to love this side of him. So much.
“Better catch a square, fish...”
The words echoed in Maytag’s mind over and over as the bars slammed closed and T-Bag watched Scofield return to his cell with that look he used to have for Maytag, the one that said his target had already lost, they just didn’t know it yet.
Thumb running deftly over his chin, T-Bag watched Michael long after he’d retreated to the back of his cell, waiting for him to timidly peek out of the bars as they always did.
Maytag slid his hand into his pocket and rubbed the ridges of the bolt between his fingers. Scofield wouldn’t know what to do with such a nice weapon, it would’ve been a waste to let him have it. The fact T-Bag let him hold it made Maytag smile to himself and squeeze the cold metal just a little harder. He pulled it out and turned it over, imagining all the damage those rough edges would do pushed into a soft belly.
“Nice of him to get this for us, huh?” he grinned. T-Bag hummed some noise of agreement but didn’t even look at him. All caught up in the stupid fish who was too cocky for his own good. T-Bag would tear the guy to pieces for rejecting him, and Maytag was going to make sure he got a chance to get at least one shot in before he bled out. “How ya gonna do it?”
“Do what?” T-Bag mumbled, slipping his arms through the bars and redirecting his attention to all the rugheads glaring at him. There were more immediate matters to attend to.
“Kill the fish,” Maytag rolled his eyes and slipped the bolt back to the safety of his pocket.
“Not gonna. Yet.”
“Why?” Maytag pouted, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in a look that was so disgustingly juvenile T-Bag momentarily considered hanging the sheet and giving him a whoopin’. But there’d be time for that later.
“Aw, there’s still hope for Scofield. He’s got...charisma, s’all.”
Maytag frowned and moved to lean against the bars where he knew T-Bag could see him. “Looks like another stupid fish to me.”
“Didn’t ask you, did I?” A particularly angry lookin’ inmate scowled down at them from the second tier, and T-Bag smiled back. “Keep that screw safe, boy. S’gonna be messy, wouldn’t want ya to get hurt.”
For hours T-Bag traded between keeping watch over Scofield’s cell and the cons itching to get a shot at him, and Maytag kept watch over T-Bag. He was messing up the system. T-Bag was supposed to proposition new meat and then filet them alive when they refused, not spend all day obsessing over them. Scofield would never be as good as Maytag was, he was too cold and headstrong, and he’d be a trembling puddle of goo within a week with T-Bag torturing him. Maybe T-Bag would realize this and get bored, leave the guy alone or kill him for kicks. Either way, the fish had to go.
“Adorable, ain’t it? Pretty over there beggin’ Bellick for a place to hide,” T-Bag smirked as he strolled across the yard, Alliance rallied around in a last intimidation tactic of numbers. Maytag walked happily in the middle of them, like a big, warm security blanket made of irritable rednecks. Count couldn’t come fast enough. For some reason, it was just a given that T-Bag would walk away from it all, whether from his sheer skill in a fight or the fact he’d keep on living just to spite the bulls.
Maytag wanted to point out what a spineless excuse for a man Scofield was, how he wasn’t worth T-Bag’s time, but that would have to wait for the privacy of their cell, although being pummeled for speaking up in public would at least get some attention. But he was trying to behave himself. Scofield wasn’t making it easy, standing all exposed and vulnerable like that.
As they walked, Maytag tugged on T-Bag’s pocket more than usual, just enough that the man would notice he was there without being annoyed. A quick shower then all that time waiting for count. Maybe T-Bag needed a reminder of just what he was protecting.
Hot water was just one of the many things Maytag had forgotten about in the outside world. As far as he remembered, water didn’t get hotter than slightly warm, barely steamy at best. What he considered wonderfully hot when they got in early was probably nothing compared to how good a real hot shower felt. But it was the little things, and having some warm water left was a very nice little thing.
The tiny bars of soap were also waxy excuses for anything a sensible person would use. They had all the moisturizers and pleasant smells stripped out of them and were reduced to the bare elements of whatever soap was made out of. It left a weird residue on the skin and smelled like a public bathroom, but at least it still made his hands fantastically slippery.
Maytag rubbed the bar into his palm, sneaking glances at T-Bag who was obliviously rinsing his hair, though the man never had his guard down so openly, or perhaps ever. Still, he was probably busy thinking about how many rugheads he was gonna slaughter, not the boy quietly ogling him.
T-Bag turned and watched the shampoo run down his stomach, pushing his head to one side then the other with a low hum as the muscles stretched. Had to get nice and relaxed and clean for the good old fashioned carnage he was dreaming up. There was something so right about showing up in a clean shirt with combed hair. Respectful even, like going to a nice play. And even if he ended up bruised and bloodstained with matted hair, it was the first impression that mattered. They were gonna know he’d been anticipating those moments all day.
Slick skin brushed against his hip, the clumsy kid bumping into him. He stepped to the side and continued rubbing the tension from his shoulders until there was another firm push of skin against skin. With an agitated noise, he pushed back, “Encroachin’ on my personal space.”
“Sorry,” Maytag mumbled in a tone that gave away the grin he was hiding with his back turned. He made an exaggerated show of rinsing the soap from his arms and chest, probably attracting the attention of half the inmates in the showers with all his stretching and posing. Kid might as well parade around the locker room singing show tunes if he wanted so many people to look at him.
T-Bag was about to head out of the showers when Maytag bent to inspect the fading bruises on his thigh, just enough ass wiggling for a subtle invitation. “Turnin’ into a little harlot, girly.”
“What?” Maytag stood, a perfect picture of innocence. Though his face was surprisingly blank, other parts of him made it very clear what he had in mind.
T-Bag laughed and shook his head at the pathetic display, but it would be unfortunate to pass up such an offer. He’d no sooner waved Maytag over than the boy let his grin return and pressed a warm hand to T-Bag’s chest, skimming through the drops of water that had trickled down his sides.
Maytag always made him harder than he’d like to admit, life was just better with a weakling at his beck and call, and the fact this one had learned all the commands so he didn’t have to say them just made it better. Leaning against the cold tile, he let Maytag do the one thing he was good at, the only time he favored the boy’s soft hands that had never done a real day’s work. They were pleasant, like a girl or much younger boy, but strong and confident.
As he stroked faster, T-Bag braced himself against the wall and Maytag’s arm under the guise of holding him in place. If not for the support, he’d have probably slid down the wall and melted right into the puddle at his feet, but then he’d have to kill the boy for witnessing such weakness, and it’d be a shame to lose those hands. A glimpse of white towel and tattooed skin flickered over Maytag’s shoulder before disappearing behind the boy’s smirk of concentration.
“Move,” T-Bag murmured, shoving Maytag away just enough to see Scofield on his way out of the showers, water still dripping down his back and towel dangerously close to slipping. Maytag turned to follow T-Bag’s gaze and narrowed his eyes at the intricate ink heading out the door. Even when he was gone, T-Bag watched the empty doorway past Maytag’s head no matter how hard the boy tried to get his attention back.
He did everything just right, exactly the way T-Bag liked it, but T-Bag still came thinking about that stupid fish and brushed Maytag’s hand away. Scofield was gone by the time they rinsed off and made it to the locker room. Maytag pretended he didn’t notice T-Bag’s disappointment and dressed quietly, back turned so no one could see his bitter pout.
T-Bag wouldn’t be so interested in the guy when he was already dead.
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #41, "square"
Rating: R-ish
Summary: Michael brings out Maytag's catty side.
Author's Notes: Maytag withdrawal anyone? Been catching up on everything I neglected over my mini weekend vacation, finally caught up on enough to finish something Maytag. Jealous little prick. But considering that's the only in-show Maytag, I kinda have to love this side of him. So much.
“Better catch a square, fish...”
The words echoed in Maytag’s mind over and over as the bars slammed closed and T-Bag watched Scofield return to his cell with that look he used to have for Maytag, the one that said his target had already lost, they just didn’t know it yet.
Thumb running deftly over his chin, T-Bag watched Michael long after he’d retreated to the back of his cell, waiting for him to timidly peek out of the bars as they always did.
Maytag slid his hand into his pocket and rubbed the ridges of the bolt between his fingers. Scofield wouldn’t know what to do with such a nice weapon, it would’ve been a waste to let him have it. The fact T-Bag let him hold it made Maytag smile to himself and squeeze the cold metal just a little harder. He pulled it out and turned it over, imagining all the damage those rough edges would do pushed into a soft belly.
“Nice of him to get this for us, huh?” he grinned. T-Bag hummed some noise of agreement but didn’t even look at him. All caught up in the stupid fish who was too cocky for his own good. T-Bag would tear the guy to pieces for rejecting him, and Maytag was going to make sure he got a chance to get at least one shot in before he bled out. “How ya gonna do it?”
“Do what?” T-Bag mumbled, slipping his arms through the bars and redirecting his attention to all the rugheads glaring at him. There were more immediate matters to attend to.
“Kill the fish,” Maytag rolled his eyes and slipped the bolt back to the safety of his pocket.
“Not gonna. Yet.”
“Why?” Maytag pouted, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in a look that was so disgustingly juvenile T-Bag momentarily considered hanging the sheet and giving him a whoopin’. But there’d be time for that later.
“Aw, there’s still hope for Scofield. He’s got...charisma, s’all.”
Maytag frowned and moved to lean against the bars where he knew T-Bag could see him. “Looks like another stupid fish to me.”
“Didn’t ask you, did I?” A particularly angry lookin’ inmate scowled down at them from the second tier, and T-Bag smiled back. “Keep that screw safe, boy. S’gonna be messy, wouldn’t want ya to get hurt.”
For hours T-Bag traded between keeping watch over Scofield’s cell and the cons itching to get a shot at him, and Maytag kept watch over T-Bag. He was messing up the system. T-Bag was supposed to proposition new meat and then filet them alive when they refused, not spend all day obsessing over them. Scofield would never be as good as Maytag was, he was too cold and headstrong, and he’d be a trembling puddle of goo within a week with T-Bag torturing him. Maybe T-Bag would realize this and get bored, leave the guy alone or kill him for kicks. Either way, the fish had to go.
“Adorable, ain’t it? Pretty over there beggin’ Bellick for a place to hide,” T-Bag smirked as he strolled across the yard, Alliance rallied around in a last intimidation tactic of numbers. Maytag walked happily in the middle of them, like a big, warm security blanket made of irritable rednecks. Count couldn’t come fast enough. For some reason, it was just a given that T-Bag would walk away from it all, whether from his sheer skill in a fight or the fact he’d keep on living just to spite the bulls.
Maytag wanted to point out what a spineless excuse for a man Scofield was, how he wasn’t worth T-Bag’s time, but that would have to wait for the privacy of their cell, although being pummeled for speaking up in public would at least get some attention. But he was trying to behave himself. Scofield wasn’t making it easy, standing all exposed and vulnerable like that.
As they walked, Maytag tugged on T-Bag’s pocket more than usual, just enough that the man would notice he was there without being annoyed. A quick shower then all that time waiting for count. Maybe T-Bag needed a reminder of just what he was protecting.
Hot water was just one of the many things Maytag had forgotten about in the outside world. As far as he remembered, water didn’t get hotter than slightly warm, barely steamy at best. What he considered wonderfully hot when they got in early was probably nothing compared to how good a real hot shower felt. But it was the little things, and having some warm water left was a very nice little thing.
The tiny bars of soap were also waxy excuses for anything a sensible person would use. They had all the moisturizers and pleasant smells stripped out of them and were reduced to the bare elements of whatever soap was made out of. It left a weird residue on the skin and smelled like a public bathroom, but at least it still made his hands fantastically slippery.
Maytag rubbed the bar into his palm, sneaking glances at T-Bag who was obliviously rinsing his hair, though the man never had his guard down so openly, or perhaps ever. Still, he was probably busy thinking about how many rugheads he was gonna slaughter, not the boy quietly ogling him.
T-Bag turned and watched the shampoo run down his stomach, pushing his head to one side then the other with a low hum as the muscles stretched. Had to get nice and relaxed and clean for the good old fashioned carnage he was dreaming up. There was something so right about showing up in a clean shirt with combed hair. Respectful even, like going to a nice play. And even if he ended up bruised and bloodstained with matted hair, it was the first impression that mattered. They were gonna know he’d been anticipating those moments all day.
Slick skin brushed against his hip, the clumsy kid bumping into him. He stepped to the side and continued rubbing the tension from his shoulders until there was another firm push of skin against skin. With an agitated noise, he pushed back, “Encroachin’ on my personal space.”
“Sorry,” Maytag mumbled in a tone that gave away the grin he was hiding with his back turned. He made an exaggerated show of rinsing the soap from his arms and chest, probably attracting the attention of half the inmates in the showers with all his stretching and posing. Kid might as well parade around the locker room singing show tunes if he wanted so many people to look at him.
T-Bag was about to head out of the showers when Maytag bent to inspect the fading bruises on his thigh, just enough ass wiggling for a subtle invitation. “Turnin’ into a little harlot, girly.”
“What?” Maytag stood, a perfect picture of innocence. Though his face was surprisingly blank, other parts of him made it very clear what he had in mind.
T-Bag laughed and shook his head at the pathetic display, but it would be unfortunate to pass up such an offer. He’d no sooner waved Maytag over than the boy let his grin return and pressed a warm hand to T-Bag’s chest, skimming through the drops of water that had trickled down his sides.
Maytag always made him harder than he’d like to admit, life was just better with a weakling at his beck and call, and the fact this one had learned all the commands so he didn’t have to say them just made it better. Leaning against the cold tile, he let Maytag do the one thing he was good at, the only time he favored the boy’s soft hands that had never done a real day’s work. They were pleasant, like a girl or much younger boy, but strong and confident.
As he stroked faster, T-Bag braced himself against the wall and Maytag’s arm under the guise of holding him in place. If not for the support, he’d have probably slid down the wall and melted right into the puddle at his feet, but then he’d have to kill the boy for witnessing such weakness, and it’d be a shame to lose those hands. A glimpse of white towel and tattooed skin flickered over Maytag’s shoulder before disappearing behind the boy’s smirk of concentration.
“Move,” T-Bag murmured, shoving Maytag away just enough to see Scofield on his way out of the showers, water still dripping down his back and towel dangerously close to slipping. Maytag turned to follow T-Bag’s gaze and narrowed his eyes at the intricate ink heading out the door. Even when he was gone, T-Bag watched the empty doorway past Maytag’s head no matter how hard the boy tried to get his attention back.
He did everything just right, exactly the way T-Bag liked it, but T-Bag still came thinking about that stupid fish and brushed Maytag’s hand away. Scofield was gone by the time they rinsed off and made it to the locker room. Maytag pretended he didn’t notice T-Bag’s disappointment and dressed quietly, back turned so no one could see his bitter pout.
T-Bag wouldn’t be so interested in the guy when he was already dead.