T-Bag/Maytag, Punishment
Title: Black Eyed
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #48, "Punishment"
Rating: G (and it's punishment? 0_0 There's Maytag abuse, but no more than a cartoon)
Summary: Maytag's a bad boy. But he just needs training.
Author's Notes: Had to write something with asshole!T-Bag and less corpse rape. Set a day or two after "What'd you Really Do" and "Birth Of Maytag", I suppose, but you don't need to read them. A day or so after he's transferred into T-Bag's cell.
The Rest
Bottles were sent flying from the little shelf and scattered across the floor. Maytag slid off the top bunk, chasing after the generic hair spray that rested in the corner and the lotion that had nearly rolled out between the bars. T-Bag watched his ass wriggle around in the air as he fished under the bed for his toothpaste. The boy was so useless, and irritatingly jumpy. A CO passing by, yelling for the next cell over to be opened, had startled him so badly he crashed his hand right through everything on the shelf.
If he didn’t calm down, he’d put the boy in a coma, finally get some time without that damn foot hanging down from the top bunk, constantly shaking and distracting T-Bag from his reading.
“So, um, how long you been here?” His obsession with small talk was also becoming quite tiresome.
“Bit over a year, I guess.” Most times T-Bag would just pretend he hadn’t said anything, and Maytag would shut up. But sometimes he’d humor him, figuring the sooner he finished his game of 20 questions the better.
“Bet you’ve been in lots of other prisons.” The grin was evident in Maytag’s voice.
“Mmhm,” he flipped to the next page in his magazine, but it had been ripped out. He’d complained once and been told they couldn’t help what other inmates did to the materials before returning them, but he had a sneaking suspicion they ripped out any pages with pictures of children on them. He’d never seen an ad for sugary cereal or toy stores. It didn’t matter much to him whether they took away all the “temptations”, except when the rest of his article was on the back of one.
“What’d ya do?” Maytag’s beaming face appeared as he laid on his stomach, hanging over the edge to look at T-Bag.
“Whadda ya mean ‘what did I do’?”
“Ya know, murder, assault, rape, burglary...” His list was cut short as T-Bag kicked him in the face, end of his boot making delightful contact with cheekbone, sending the boy scrambling back up where he’d come from. With a few muttered curses, Maytag was silent. Finally.
“All of the above, kid,” he smiled, trying to find a new article.
No mention was made of his black eye in the yard, although T-Bag walking around with a bruised boy in tow wasn’t a particularly new event. Nevertheless, he hadn’t annoyed T-Bag with any more questions.
“Yeah, I beat up a nigger once,” Maytag tried to join in the conversation, only to be stared down by the group of men.
“Boy, you best learn to speak when spoken to, or it’ll be your other eye,” all the good natured teasing gone from T-Bag’s voice.
“I just...” he fell to the ground, air knocked out of his lungs by a fist to his stomach. The skinhead backed off, and T-Bag shook his head, grabbing Maytag roughly by the arm and hauling him to his feet.
“Now now, I’ma be the only one punishing this one.” Maytag stood doubled over next to T-Bag, one hand on his pocket, the other grabbing at the throbbing in his abdomen. As the men resumed their conversation, Maytag resigned himself to listening and watching. At least everyone would still see him standing next to T-Bag and walking with him. It was a start.
“C’mon, Maytag,” T-Bag began to walk, the familiar tugging on his pocket as Maytag trotted along next to him feeling so good. He may have been awkward and good for nothing, but at least the boy looked nice. Especially good with that eye. He’d had his doubts about how trainable he was, given his stubborn impulsiveness and infatuation, but a kick to the head seemed to do the trick nicely. He was quiet, well behaved, and serving his purpose of looking pretty and following orders. Things would work out just fine.
As soon as the bars slammed shut, T-Bag shoved the boy against the wall, pinning him. Maytag struggled for a moment before settling down. “You got a big mouth.”
“I...”
“Ah ah ah,” T-Bag grabbed Maytag’s face in his hand, squishing his cheeks uncomfortably hard. “One more word out of you, and I’ll cut your tongue out. We clear?” His head shook emphatically in T-Bag’s grip. “Seems there was a little misunderstanding. You take this pocket, you do what I say and shut up. There’s only one thing I want from that pretty little mouth of yours, and it ain’t your opinion.”
T-Bag could almost see Maytag’s spirit breaking across his face as he released his chin. Such big dreams for such a little boy. What kind of leader would T-Bag be if he let ratty little kids shoot their mouths off at his men? They’d shank him in disgust. Maytag didn’t have anything worth hearing, anyway, although whatever fictitious piece of work he’d dreamed up about that nigger may have been worth a laugh.
That was his only saving grace, aside from that lovely body. A very vivid imagination combined with that eager to please arrogance was curiously attractive. There was something simmering just under the surface of Maytag that hadn’t quite made it out yet. Standing against the wall with that defeated, heartbroken look, he was a far cry from the cocky fish against the fence.
But with incredible speed, his face brightened as T-Bag spoke in a slightly more gentle manner. “Time for your trial run. Got a job for ya.”
Not sure how far I'll take this. Some other things that are more interesting at the moment (although far more dark). Random bits not overly related to this timeline. Will probably come back to it soon, as well as there's that third piece that fits right before this of Maytag's first night there. >:) Oh how quickly Maytag grows on you (or me, rather).
Character/Pairing: T-Bag/Maytag
Prompt: #48, "Punishment"
Rating: G (and it's punishment? 0_0 There's Maytag abuse, but no more than a cartoon)
Summary: Maytag's a bad boy. But he just needs training.
Author's Notes: Had to write something with asshole!T-Bag and less corpse rape. Set a day or two after "What'd you Really Do" and "Birth Of Maytag", I suppose, but you don't need to read them. A day or so after he's transferred into T-Bag's cell.
The Rest
Bottles were sent flying from the little shelf and scattered across the floor. Maytag slid off the top bunk, chasing after the generic hair spray that rested in the corner and the lotion that had nearly rolled out between the bars. T-Bag watched his ass wriggle around in the air as he fished under the bed for his toothpaste. The boy was so useless, and irritatingly jumpy. A CO passing by, yelling for the next cell over to be opened, had startled him so badly he crashed his hand right through everything on the shelf.
If he didn’t calm down, he’d put the boy in a coma, finally get some time without that damn foot hanging down from the top bunk, constantly shaking and distracting T-Bag from his reading.
“So, um, how long you been here?” His obsession with small talk was also becoming quite tiresome.
“Bit over a year, I guess.” Most times T-Bag would just pretend he hadn’t said anything, and Maytag would shut up. But sometimes he’d humor him, figuring the sooner he finished his game of 20 questions the better.
“Bet you’ve been in lots of other prisons.” The grin was evident in Maytag’s voice.
“Mmhm,” he flipped to the next page in his magazine, but it had been ripped out. He’d complained once and been told they couldn’t help what other inmates did to the materials before returning them, but he had a sneaking suspicion they ripped out any pages with pictures of children on them. He’d never seen an ad for sugary cereal or toy stores. It didn’t matter much to him whether they took away all the “temptations”, except when the rest of his article was on the back of one.
“What’d ya do?” Maytag’s beaming face appeared as he laid on his stomach, hanging over the edge to look at T-Bag.
“Whadda ya mean ‘what did I do’?”
“Ya know, murder, assault, rape, burglary...” His list was cut short as T-Bag kicked him in the face, end of his boot making delightful contact with cheekbone, sending the boy scrambling back up where he’d come from. With a few muttered curses, Maytag was silent. Finally.
“All of the above, kid,” he smiled, trying to find a new article.
No mention was made of his black eye in the yard, although T-Bag walking around with a bruised boy in tow wasn’t a particularly new event. Nevertheless, he hadn’t annoyed T-Bag with any more questions.
“Yeah, I beat up a nigger once,” Maytag tried to join in the conversation, only to be stared down by the group of men.
“Boy, you best learn to speak when spoken to, or it’ll be your other eye,” all the good natured teasing gone from T-Bag’s voice.
“I just...” he fell to the ground, air knocked out of his lungs by a fist to his stomach. The skinhead backed off, and T-Bag shook his head, grabbing Maytag roughly by the arm and hauling him to his feet.
“Now now, I’ma be the only one punishing this one.” Maytag stood doubled over next to T-Bag, one hand on his pocket, the other grabbing at the throbbing in his abdomen. As the men resumed their conversation, Maytag resigned himself to listening and watching. At least everyone would still see him standing next to T-Bag and walking with him. It was a start.
“C’mon, Maytag,” T-Bag began to walk, the familiar tugging on his pocket as Maytag trotted along next to him feeling so good. He may have been awkward and good for nothing, but at least the boy looked nice. Especially good with that eye. He’d had his doubts about how trainable he was, given his stubborn impulsiveness and infatuation, but a kick to the head seemed to do the trick nicely. He was quiet, well behaved, and serving his purpose of looking pretty and following orders. Things would work out just fine.
As soon as the bars slammed shut, T-Bag shoved the boy against the wall, pinning him. Maytag struggled for a moment before settling down. “You got a big mouth.”
“I...”
“Ah ah ah,” T-Bag grabbed Maytag’s face in his hand, squishing his cheeks uncomfortably hard. “One more word out of you, and I’ll cut your tongue out. We clear?” His head shook emphatically in T-Bag’s grip. “Seems there was a little misunderstanding. You take this pocket, you do what I say and shut up. There’s only one thing I want from that pretty little mouth of yours, and it ain’t your opinion.”
T-Bag could almost see Maytag’s spirit breaking across his face as he released his chin. Such big dreams for such a little boy. What kind of leader would T-Bag be if he let ratty little kids shoot their mouths off at his men? They’d shank him in disgust. Maytag didn’t have anything worth hearing, anyway, although whatever fictitious piece of work he’d dreamed up about that nigger may have been worth a laugh.
That was his only saving grace, aside from that lovely body. A very vivid imagination combined with that eager to please arrogance was curiously attractive. There was something simmering just under the surface of Maytag that hadn’t quite made it out yet. Standing against the wall with that defeated, heartbroken look, he was a far cry from the cocky fish against the fence.
But with incredible speed, his face brightened as T-Bag spoke in a slightly more gentle manner. “Time for your trial run. Got a job for ya.”
Not sure how far I'll take this. Some other things that are more interesting at the moment (although far more dark). Random bits not overly related to this timeline. Will probably come back to it soon, as well as there's that third piece that fits right before this of Maytag's first night there. >:) Oh how quickly Maytag grows on you (or me, rather).