FIC: Mama Doesn't Know What Bradley Doesn't Tell Her (R)
Title: Mama Doesn’t Know What Bradley Doesn’t Tell Her
Character/Pairing: T-Bag, Brad Bellick; T-Bag/Bellick
Genre: Post-escape, Slash
Rating: R
Word Count: 1747
Prompt: 026. Parents
Summary: Strangulation not an option in this particular situation, Bellick contented himself in glowering malevolently at the smirking rapist standing on the porch.
Author’s Notes: This is like, so old. Seriously. I wrote it in late May, early June-ish.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Slash. Sexual situations. Swearing.
Beta(s): steralizetheemo and peterstormarejr
T-Bag was at the door and Bellick wouldn’t mind grabbing him around the neck and forcing the air from the bastard’s lungs, but he couldn’t because Mama was hovering behind him, smiling like she always did when strangers stopped by.
“Why Bradley, is this a friend of yours?”
Strangulation not an option in this particular situation, Bellick contented himself in glowering malevolently at the smirking rapist standing on the porch. He crossed his arms swiftly, to hide the fists his hands were balling into from Mama.
“Yes, Mama,” Bellick gritted out, feeling his fists clench tighter and dig deeper into his armpits.
Mama was scolding him already and he held back a curse as T-Bag’s smirk began showing teeth.
“Well, invite him in already! You’re such a rude host, Bradley. You act as if I didn’t teach you any manners at all. Certainly taught you more than your father would have . . .”
He considered saying something about how manners were useless in his line of work, but he decided Mama wouldn’t appreciate that.
She already chastised him daily about going into the field he had, but at least she’d stopped mentioning how inconsiderate he was to have become an officer just to spite her.
Though, he’d found himself grumbling once Mama had left the room after particularly brash scoldings, he didn’t see how he was the inconsiderate one in the family when he’d offered to take her in.
“No, Mama. It’s all right,” Bellick spat, cleverly hiding the rage threatening to boil over behind the sweetest “Mama” he could muster. “He won’t be staying long.”
He wasn’t sure from through the screen, but he could swear Bagwell was pouting at him, near piteously.
“I’ll just go out and talk to him on the porch for a few minutes.”
Mama nodded, and Bellick didn’t have to turn around to know she was boring into him with a scrutinizing frown.
Without another word, however, she made her way back into the kitchen to continue washing the dirty dishes from dinner.
T-Bag stepped to the side as Bellick passed through the threshold, screen door swinging out in front of him, but no amount of stepping to the side could save him from Bellick lunging forward and locking T-Bag’s neck in a stranglehold.
He was suddenly up against a table, Bellick growling at him fiercely, pushing him down until his back was completely flat against it and Bellick was leaning over him.
“You piece of fucking shit!” Bellick’s voice rumbled and T-Bag, aloof as to the peril he was in, took clear advantage of their close proximity, sticking out his tongue, and sliding it over Bellick’s top lip, to Bellick’s chagrin.
“What?” Bellick was snarling at him, hands squeezing steadily tighter, elbows pressing with constrictive pressure against T-Bag’s rib cage, and he was sure if he pressed just a little harder he could break something - but he wouldn’t. Not now.
“You come here thinkin’ I wasn’t gonna turn you in ‘cause of the history we got together?” Bellick was agonizingly close now, his breath spilling over T-Bag’s face in a wash of old cigarettes and stale doughnuts.
But he was whispering, so his mama wouldn’t hear, and T-Bag was sure she’d be interested in her own sons promiscuous little love affairs at Fox River.
So he answered. Loudly. Because surely the neighbors would like to know as well.
“Just came here for a little closure, Brad. That’s all.”
And T-Bag received the exact response he was aiming for as Bellick throttled him.
“Closure? You want closure, fuckhead?” Bellick came closer - if that was at all possible considering how close they had previously been - pushing his elbows off to the side until their chests were touching, and the only space between their faces now was half a centimeter between the tip of their noses.
“This ended the moment you went over that wall. There’s your fucking closure.”
Bellick’s breath almost smelled worse when he was breathing directly into T-Bag’s gaping mouth. But that didn’t matter to him, and it wouldn’t have made a single bit of difference in the situation if Bellick’s breath had smelled like roses, because he’d forcefully kissed that mouth too many times before, and he knew it at least tasted a little better than it smelled.
So, using what little leverage T-Bag had in this particular state of repose, he bent his neck back and managed to lock lips with Captain Brad Bellick of Fox River Penitentiary, Joliet, Illinois.
And, like any man deeply focused on one task, Bellick was startled at the sudden change in direction that the situation had taken. As if a giant wheel had been jerked violently to the left, and the peril was suddenly escalating up to the moment of the wreck.
And as the kiss distracted him from his original task, forcing his mind to blank and settle upon his astonishment, there came a loosening of his grip around T-Bag’s neck, and a relaxing of his arms holding down T-Bag’s own.
Arms freed, for the most part, T-Bag managed to maneuver one between their compressed bodies, fingers searching for Bellick’s belt buckle.
But Bellick was recovering by now - not as if a simple kiss could distract him forever - and wasn’t having any of that.
“You fucker,” he snapped after breaking away, pulling back while T-Bag sneered at him. Bellick pressed against him harder, successfully stalling the movements of T-Bag’s roaming hand.
“This ain’t over.”
“It’s over when I fucking say it is!”
This time, T-Bag was the one to be surprised as Bellick smashed their lips together.
“And it’s fucking over, damn it.”
T-Bag was unceremoniously shoved to the dusty wooden planks of the porch before Bellick turned toward the door.
“Bellick - Brad,” T-Bag corrected himself with a delighted grin, his smile mimicking that of a curious child’s, “if you think this is over, then you’re sorely mistaken.”
He was still at the door, his hand hovering at half the distance necessary to grab the handle.
He snorted. “Yeah?”
He heard the rustle of T-Bag’s clothing as he stood and the deliberate shuffling of his feet as he came to stand at Bellick’s right, leaning casually against the wall. Light from the living room bathed his face in a yellow sheen and provided the only source of illumination for the porch, as late into the evening as it was.
“We have unfinished business.” T-Bag’s tone was menacing, predatory, animalistic, and downright feral, but Bellick wasn’t going to let it shake him, because he knew better than that.
Bellick’s hand fell back to his side. He paced to the far side of the porch before pausing, his hands coming to rest on the railing.
“The circumstances are different now, Bagwell.”
“Teddy,” came T-Bag’s succinct reply, and Bellick could hear the playful glee in his voice. “We ain’t behind prison walls no more, Brad. No need ta be formal.”
“That’s right,” Bellick said, the faintest smile flitting onto his visage. “We’re not. The circumstances have changed, Teddy.” The name rolled off his tongue awkwardly. In an oddly foreign and unwanted way. It was an intruder to his usual cache of names regarding T-Bag.
“Do explain.”
He was sounding more and more like a small child by the minute - innocent, unyielding, malleable.
Bellick shifted and gazed out at the empty street, it’s lone light flickering on and off every few seconds. The surrounding houses were all dark in exception of the particularly bright porch lights illuminating their front doors.
The Bellick residence lacked a porch light. It had burnt out ages ago, and Bellick had never bothered to replace it.
“Inside those walls, you had nothing. So I gave you something, in exchange for a quick blowjob or a fuck. But out here,” he raised a hand and gestured, sweeping it across what could be seen of the sky from under the porch roof, “we’re on level ground.”
“Can I clean the slate?”
“What?” Bellick’s head swivelled around to raise an eyebrow at T-Bag’s question.
“Said we’re on level ground. Figured while we’re here, we should clean the slate, because, like ya said, this is different.” T-Bag flicked his head toward the house. “And if it’s different, don’t see why we should continue on with our past discretions hangin’ over us.”
“Who said this was going to continue?”
“Your lips.”
Bellick clenched his teeth and scowled, his eyes subsequently narrowing at T-Bag’s declaration.
But after a moment, his face softened and he shook his head.
“What the fuck’ve ya got that’ll satisfy me?”
T-Bag stood up straight, something like a grin on his face. “Oh, it’s good, trust me.” He nodded to himself, overexcited, like he was about to share a big secret with Bellick.
And if Bellick was lucky, it’d be more than ‘Just A Big Secret’, it’d be ‘The Big Secret That Changed His Career.’
“Well? What is it”
T-Bag licked his bottom lip, his tongue curling in the way that made Bellick’s spine crawl every time, as much as he’d attempted not to let it.
“Just the possible places some recently escaped criminals may be headed to.”
And Bellick was satisfied - more than satisfied even - because there was nothing he wanted to see more than Michael Scofield back behind bars.
“All right,” Bellick hastily paced to the door where T-Bag was waiting. He opened it and pointed to a staircase just to the left of the entryway.
“Go straight up the stairs, down the hall, second door on the right.”
“Sure thing, big shot.”
“Fuck off.”
T-Bag grinned at him like the cheeky bastard he was, and sauntered inside before making his way up the staircase.
“Mama,” Bellick had stepped inside himself and was closing and locking the front door for the night.
“Bradley?”
“Goin’ to bed, Mama. Good night.”
“Is that man staying the night?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Be good.”
“Of course, Mama.”
“And Brad?”
Bellick paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Yes?”
“I’m glad you’ve found someone, though, a woman would’ve been my preferential choice, so you could make me lots of grandbabies, but a mother can only try so hard . . .”
He grimaced, gritting his teeth and suppressing a groan.
He opened his mouth to explain, but closed it in light of letting his mother know what was really going on.
Because what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, and Bellick would be damned if he didn’t make sure things stayed that way.
Character/Pairing: T-Bag, Brad Bellick; T-Bag/Bellick
Genre: Post-escape, Slash
Rating: R
Word Count: 1747
Prompt: 026. Parents
Summary: Strangulation not an option in this particular situation, Bellick contented himself in glowering malevolently at the smirking rapist standing on the porch.
Author’s Notes: This is like, so old. Seriously. I wrote it in late May, early June-ish.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Slash. Sexual situations. Swearing.
Beta(s): steralizetheemo and peterstormarejr
T-Bag was at the door and Bellick wouldn’t mind grabbing him around the neck and forcing the air from the bastard’s lungs, but he couldn’t because Mama was hovering behind him, smiling like she always did when strangers stopped by.
“Why Bradley, is this a friend of yours?”
Strangulation not an option in this particular situation, Bellick contented himself in glowering malevolently at the smirking rapist standing on the porch. He crossed his arms swiftly, to hide the fists his hands were balling into from Mama.
“Yes, Mama,” Bellick gritted out, feeling his fists clench tighter and dig deeper into his armpits.
Mama was scolding him already and he held back a curse as T-Bag’s smirk began showing teeth.
“Well, invite him in already! You’re such a rude host, Bradley. You act as if I didn’t teach you any manners at all. Certainly taught you more than your father would have . . .”
He considered saying something about how manners were useless in his line of work, but he decided Mama wouldn’t appreciate that.
She already chastised him daily about going into the field he had, but at least she’d stopped mentioning how inconsiderate he was to have become an officer just to spite her.
Though, he’d found himself grumbling once Mama had left the room after particularly brash scoldings, he didn’t see how he was the inconsiderate one in the family when he’d offered to take her in.
“No, Mama. It’s all right,” Bellick spat, cleverly hiding the rage threatening to boil over behind the sweetest “Mama” he could muster. “He won’t be staying long.”
He wasn’t sure from through the screen, but he could swear Bagwell was pouting at him, near piteously.
“I’ll just go out and talk to him on the porch for a few minutes.”
Mama nodded, and Bellick didn’t have to turn around to know she was boring into him with a scrutinizing frown.
Without another word, however, she made her way back into the kitchen to continue washing the dirty dishes from dinner.
T-Bag stepped to the side as Bellick passed through the threshold, screen door swinging out in front of him, but no amount of stepping to the side could save him from Bellick lunging forward and locking T-Bag’s neck in a stranglehold.
He was suddenly up against a table, Bellick growling at him fiercely, pushing him down until his back was completely flat against it and Bellick was leaning over him.
“You piece of fucking shit!” Bellick’s voice rumbled and T-Bag, aloof as to the peril he was in, took clear advantage of their close proximity, sticking out his tongue, and sliding it over Bellick’s top lip, to Bellick’s chagrin.
“What?” Bellick was snarling at him, hands squeezing steadily tighter, elbows pressing with constrictive pressure against T-Bag’s rib cage, and he was sure if he pressed just a little harder he could break something - but he wouldn’t. Not now.
“You come here thinkin’ I wasn’t gonna turn you in ‘cause of the history we got together?” Bellick was agonizingly close now, his breath spilling over T-Bag’s face in a wash of old cigarettes and stale doughnuts.
But he was whispering, so his mama wouldn’t hear, and T-Bag was sure she’d be interested in her own sons promiscuous little love affairs at Fox River.
So he answered. Loudly. Because surely the neighbors would like to know as well.
“Just came here for a little closure, Brad. That’s all.”
And T-Bag received the exact response he was aiming for as Bellick throttled him.
“Closure? You want closure, fuckhead?” Bellick came closer - if that was at all possible considering how close they had previously been - pushing his elbows off to the side until their chests were touching, and the only space between their faces now was half a centimeter between the tip of their noses.
“This ended the moment you went over that wall. There’s your fucking closure.”
Bellick’s breath almost smelled worse when he was breathing directly into T-Bag’s gaping mouth. But that didn’t matter to him, and it wouldn’t have made a single bit of difference in the situation if Bellick’s breath had smelled like roses, because he’d forcefully kissed that mouth too many times before, and he knew it at least tasted a little better than it smelled.
So, using what little leverage T-Bag had in this particular state of repose, he bent his neck back and managed to lock lips with Captain Brad Bellick of Fox River Penitentiary, Joliet, Illinois.
And, like any man deeply focused on one task, Bellick was startled at the sudden change in direction that the situation had taken. As if a giant wheel had been jerked violently to the left, and the peril was suddenly escalating up to the moment of the wreck.
And as the kiss distracted him from his original task, forcing his mind to blank and settle upon his astonishment, there came a loosening of his grip around T-Bag’s neck, and a relaxing of his arms holding down T-Bag’s own.
Arms freed, for the most part, T-Bag managed to maneuver one between their compressed bodies, fingers searching for Bellick’s belt buckle.
But Bellick was recovering by now - not as if a simple kiss could distract him forever - and wasn’t having any of that.
“You fucker,” he snapped after breaking away, pulling back while T-Bag sneered at him. Bellick pressed against him harder, successfully stalling the movements of T-Bag’s roaming hand.
“This ain’t over.”
“It’s over when I fucking say it is!”
This time, T-Bag was the one to be surprised as Bellick smashed their lips together.
“And it’s fucking over, damn it.”
T-Bag was unceremoniously shoved to the dusty wooden planks of the porch before Bellick turned toward the door.
“Bellick - Brad,” T-Bag corrected himself with a delighted grin, his smile mimicking that of a curious child’s, “if you think this is over, then you’re sorely mistaken.”
He was still at the door, his hand hovering at half the distance necessary to grab the handle.
He snorted. “Yeah?”
He heard the rustle of T-Bag’s clothing as he stood and the deliberate shuffling of his feet as he came to stand at Bellick’s right, leaning casually against the wall. Light from the living room bathed his face in a yellow sheen and provided the only source of illumination for the porch, as late into the evening as it was.
“We have unfinished business.” T-Bag’s tone was menacing, predatory, animalistic, and downright feral, but Bellick wasn’t going to let it shake him, because he knew better than that.
Bellick’s hand fell back to his side. He paced to the far side of the porch before pausing, his hands coming to rest on the railing.
“The circumstances are different now, Bagwell.”
“Teddy,” came T-Bag’s succinct reply, and Bellick could hear the playful glee in his voice. “We ain’t behind prison walls no more, Brad. No need ta be formal.”
“That’s right,” Bellick said, the faintest smile flitting onto his visage. “We’re not. The circumstances have changed, Teddy.” The name rolled off his tongue awkwardly. In an oddly foreign and unwanted way. It was an intruder to his usual cache of names regarding T-Bag.
“Do explain.”
He was sounding more and more like a small child by the minute - innocent, unyielding, malleable.
Bellick shifted and gazed out at the empty street, it’s lone light flickering on and off every few seconds. The surrounding houses were all dark in exception of the particularly bright porch lights illuminating their front doors.
The Bellick residence lacked a porch light. It had burnt out ages ago, and Bellick had never bothered to replace it.
“Inside those walls, you had nothing. So I gave you something, in exchange for a quick blowjob or a fuck. But out here,” he raised a hand and gestured, sweeping it across what could be seen of the sky from under the porch roof, “we’re on level ground.”
“Can I clean the slate?”
“What?” Bellick’s head swivelled around to raise an eyebrow at T-Bag’s question.
“Said we’re on level ground. Figured while we’re here, we should clean the slate, because, like ya said, this is different.” T-Bag flicked his head toward the house. “And if it’s different, don’t see why we should continue on with our past discretions hangin’ over us.”
“Who said this was going to continue?”
“Your lips.”
Bellick clenched his teeth and scowled, his eyes subsequently narrowing at T-Bag’s declaration.
But after a moment, his face softened and he shook his head.
“What the fuck’ve ya got that’ll satisfy me?”
T-Bag stood up straight, something like a grin on his face. “Oh, it’s good, trust me.” He nodded to himself, overexcited, like he was about to share a big secret with Bellick.
And if Bellick was lucky, it’d be more than ‘Just A Big Secret’, it’d be ‘The Big Secret That Changed His Career.’
“Well? What is it”
T-Bag licked his bottom lip, his tongue curling in the way that made Bellick’s spine crawl every time, as much as he’d attempted not to let it.
“Just the possible places some recently escaped criminals may be headed to.”
And Bellick was satisfied - more than satisfied even - because there was nothing he wanted to see more than Michael Scofield back behind bars.
“All right,” Bellick hastily paced to the door where T-Bag was waiting. He opened it and pointed to a staircase just to the left of the entryway.
“Go straight up the stairs, down the hall, second door on the right.”
“Sure thing, big shot.”
“Fuck off.”
T-Bag grinned at him like the cheeky bastard he was, and sauntered inside before making his way up the staircase.
“Mama,” Bellick had stepped inside himself and was closing and locking the front door for the night.
“Bradley?”
“Goin’ to bed, Mama. Good night.”
“Is that man staying the night?”
“Yes, Mama.”
“Be good.”
“Of course, Mama.”
“And Brad?”
Bellick paused at the bottom of the stairs. “Yes?”
“I’m glad you’ve found someone, though, a woman would’ve been my preferential choice, so you could make me lots of grandbabies, but a mother can only try so hard . . .”
He grimaced, gritting his teeth and suppressing a groan.
He opened his mouth to explain, but closed it in light of letting his mother know what was really going on.
Because what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her, and Bellick would be damned if he didn’t make sure things stayed that way.